Depression made me cold

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 20, 2019

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Submitted: May 20, 2019

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Exactly three years ago, May 20th 2016, I tried to kill myself. It took me a year to face that and say it like this, to random people. Still most people I meet have no idea, because I rarely share my story with my friends. It takes me a great deal of trust and/or alcohol to open up to people and explain it all in detail. It's easier like this, when I don't know the people and they don't know me. If you sat next to me on the bus tomorrow, you wouldn't know me even if you've read my texts, but that's what makes me able to talk about it here.

I swallowed sodium hydroxide (NaOH), mixed with water. It's very alkaline, but the water neutralizes some of it. I will always remember the few minutes of my life when I did that. I was in our bathroom, because I simply needed to pee, and I couldn't think about ways to kill myself, because I did. I had dreamed of killing myself for years (I was 15 then) but the last night it had became a reality. My first idea was to overdose, and that would've been quite easy. My stepdad is a pharmacist so we had a lot of random medicine home. I didn't know what to do, though. My second idea was to walk to a ski jumping tower and jump off the top, because it's how most people in my town kill themselves if they do. I'd been on top of the 75-meter building a few times, as anyone can just climb there and the view is amazing. I didn't feel like walking two miles there, so that was out of the question.

My mom called the ambulance and I went to the hospital. I felt awful. FIrst I threw up blood, but it was black and thick. Afterwards, all that came out was bile and in the end, spit. I couldn't swallow properly for a few days, it was just too painful, so I had to spit it all out. After a day or two, I could drink water and eat, but warm food and drinks were out of the business for a week. I went to a psychiatric hospital where I had been two months the previous fall. I was surprisingly happy there. My friend was there, and it was awesome to see her, although the circumstances were shitty. I spend about two weeks there, until they let me go, and then I went to a child care center, because I couldn't be home. It was both a great summer, and horrible. It wasn't exactly a vacation, because I couldn't do what I wanted, but I made great friends there and the world was at peace. Literally, because for that summer, everyone was playing Pokémon Go and I mean everyone. 

Nowadays I can say that I've survived my depression and anxiety. I haven't had anxiety attacks in over a year. I still get depressed at times, but everyone does. I still take medications for that, but I've finished therapy. I still want to kill myself at times, but I don't. I haven't survived the trauma I went through as a kid, and while I would say I've survived my PTSD, I wouldn't say it didn't affect my life. 

The thing is, all that made me cold. As a kid, I used to be nice. I'd talk to strangers and make small talk with bypassers. That changed when I had more important things to take care of, like figuring out how to get food and make sure my brother is okay. I wasn't a kid by the age of 10, and all I could think was how naive people my age were, when they worried about things like school and how their makeup looked. As a teenager, I was very different, and I'd rather sulk than talk with people. 

In high school, which began in the fall of 2016, I was still dead inside, and was for the next year, but I had managed to make myself look fine. I was open, I made new friends, I was happy, sometimes. It always got shitty when I'd panic and go in the bathroom to cut or at least calm myself down. In second grade (2017/2018) I was rather odd. I hung out with my friends, and I was happy. I was actually happy for almost ten years. I could talk to people, and it was never a good idea. It started when I started drinking. Not often, but all 17-year-olds drink, although it's not allowed. We'd have a party and someone was down, and I'd go and ask what's wrong. I ended up telling my whole life story to five of my friends once, and I had to stop about four times, because one of my friends had to go throw up and cry because of my past. I didn't think it was ever that bad, and all I could do was ask if she were okay.

But nowadays, I'm cold. I don't care about things, not that much. Yes, I care about my friends, but if they are shitbags, I will let them know without caring about their feelings. I don't care about what people think about me, which is good, but it also makes me rude. If I don't like someone talking to me, I will tell them to fuck off and do something productive. If one of my friends is going to go get another drink after passing out, I will stop and hold them down and yell at them before they realize they're being stupid. I can be nice, but I don't take bullshit from anyone. Even strangers. I don't really care what people think of me, as I said. If I swear and a kid and her mom hear it and the mom tells me to mind my language, I will tell them to fuck off and mind their own business (actually happened to me a few months ago, true story). 

I also don't care about depressed people, which is odd. If I hear about someone being depressed because of something, I'm more likely to shrug it off as "too bad, but that's life and life is shit" than do something about it. I also think like that about suicide. If someone wants to die, you can try to help them, but in the end, life doesn't always get better, at least enough. We all die at some point, so it doesn't really matter. In the end, life isn't for everyone. If you're better off dead, go for it. I don't get people who want to stop people by force. 

 


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