No Apologies: Living, Loving, and Letting Go

As you all know, next year is the big 40 for me! Out of the birthdays that I have had over my lifetime, this is the one that I least look forward to. There is something about 40 being old and the end of one's youth. However, rather than meeting the birthday with negativity and trepidation, I decided to write my memoir. I have had an interesting life, if I do say so myself. Coming up with a title was a difficult process and actually getting started was even harder, but I finally did tonight, or at least I wrote the prologue, which is the story of my first suicide attempt at age 14. I decided to share with you all, and will definitely keep you in the loop, as I begin this very formidable journey.

Prologue

            I was sprawled on my grandmother’s bathroom floor. About two hours earlier, I had taken my mother’s psychotropic medication, Lithium. I lost count after about forty. I just wanted to end things. I had an elaborate plan. I would write a suicide now, saying I was sorry, create a sad tale of woe to explain why this suicide attempt was necessary,  take enough pills to end my life, and hopefully die in my sleep.

            But my planned failed, and now I was on my grandmother’s bathroom floor, where just most moments before had emptied my stomach contents into our toilet. I can’t remember if I had cleaned the toilet or myself. The urgency and the violent vomiting, rendered me weak and disoriented. It took me more than a few moments to even figure out where I was. My head was spinning, throat parched, my pajamas wet and clammy from the profuse sweating. In that moment, all I could think about was my family. My grandmother had a heart condition, and had a pacemaker inserted three years before, and it would kill her to find me like this. My mother had  no patience for this kind of foolishness, so it would make her angry, and my sister was just seven at the time, so all that I would do if she found me, would be traumatize her. I had to get up!

            I gripped the side of the toilet, while I steadied one knee. Despite my weakened status and frail body, my legs had always been strong with big vibrant calves. Once I steadied myself on one leg, I was able to pull myself up and force myself upright. It was a very short walk to my bedroom, as it was the one closest to the bathroom.

           

            When I arrived back in my bedroom, I found that suicide note on my dresser next to my bed. My plan was that whoever found me could read the note and understand what had happened. I had already placed the pill bottle back inside the medicine cabinet, which was right outside my bedroom, which was right off from the kitchen. I immediately tore the note into pieces too small for it to be decipherable, placed it in the trashcan, and made the short walk back to my bedroom. My head was spinning, and I was weaker than I could ever remember being in my life. I collapsed on top of bed covers, and the world went black.