May as well go for it…
The decision was made and the obligitory suicide letter was written on the 1st; that was the deadline.
Left the letter somewhere where it would be found on the Wednesday night.
Then left the CBD on the Thursday morning at 8:30am headed for the Dandenongs.
I love the Dandenongs.
One of the best places in Melbourne.
Kinda wanted to die there.
So I wandered, moseyed and hiked my way through such delightful suburbs as: Richmond, Malvern, Toorak, Camberwell, Caulfield, Glen Waverly…god knows, god knows, umm, all over the fucking place really.
[Look, I’ll try find a map okay just to quell all your morbid fascinations!]
Anyhow, at about 5pm I got to this park which once again I forget the name of ‘cause I’m just in a really bad mood right now and have fucked so many goddamn fucking braincells this year I can’t even remember my own name half the time – medication – poking – prodding – CLL – goddamn all that crap’s really messed me up.
So I’m sitting in this park listening to the birds and I’m still a ways from Belgrave so I sod the birds and keep on trucking it along the freeway until I climb through Ferntree Gully and onwards to Belgrave.
I’m a singing and a humming and a crying and a cursing ‘cause by fuck I’ve had enough of this world by now and all I wanna do is die, and I mean who the hell wouldn’t after walking 50 odd kms in one day to get to a forest to hang myself – when I could have just stayed in melbourne and done it at 8:30 in the morning and saved me all the blisters!!!
What the hell am I a masochist? ?
Anyhows, I FINALLY make it to Belgrave and up the hill and into the forest and go pretty damn deep in there and find me a tree, and pull out me scarf and tie it pretty tight round the branch. The other end I tie firmly round my neck, goddamn tight just to be sure, and then I stand on the tree off the ground; cause there really is no point just standing on the ground – that way you’re just a man attached to a tree by a scarf, which is just silly!
So I’m standing on the tree and all I gotta do is fall, and I’m thinking about this person and I’m thinking about that person and I’m crying and a sobbing and basically being a weak little twat so I just let myself fall.
The scarf tightens.
I gag and gasp.
Finally I get some goddamn fucking peace.
Finally I get to save the world.
Next thing I know I’m tearing at the scarf trying to get it free…next thing you know I’m crashing onto the ground sucking in air. See, second time this year I couldn’t even kill myself properly. I mean, FUCK! What further proof does one need that I’m a worthless failure???? Meadbh loved that.
Stumble back to Ferntree Gully then; call the folks, find out I’ve been registered a missing person, call the police, call the folks, have a bawl, call the folks, then illegally ride a train back to the CBD without a ticket (why give a fuck?), end up at the police station (there’s that cute butt for the first time), get taken to the hospital for a psych review…then…
…I AM GIVEN THREE (THREE!!) ANTI-DEPRESSENT TABLETS TO LAST ME THE WEEKEND AND SENT HOME – ALONE – SENT HOME WHERE I WILL BE ALONE; A MERE FEW HOURS AFTER NEARLY KILLING MYSELF!!!!!!!! I MEAN WHAT THE FFFRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCKKKKKKKKKK!!!!
My memories of the following three days are of pretty much cowering on the couch in fear, never moving, because if I did then chaos may ensue.
Which leads me to a question: WHY would you send someone who is suicidal away from the hospital to where they will be alone? Is it just me or is this just bordering on complete and utter apathetic madness?
I saw my psychologist a few days later who reiterated that she believed me to beseverely depressed, and I think the only thing I can say about that is…!
I also went to a local GP who gave me a slightly bigger prescription of anti-depressents.
My family were as supportive as they could be from the other side of the world, conversations with Meadbh increased, and I sent gifts to the police and people whom had been in contact with the letter.
I thought that was all, but a month and a half later I received an email saying the police had gone to an old place of work of mine, who had got in contact with this person to find out if they knew where I was. Just wish to God I had known about this earlier, a month and a half! Feel so bad about that as never expected them to find out.
Yet further proof that suicide can impact on people you never expect it to.
I was going to kill myself because I was sick of being alive.
I was going to kill myself because in the months leading up to October I had been convinced I was an evil grostesque little twat who did not deserve to live.
I was going to kill myself because I want to help the world, and my death was the only way (in the long term) that I could foresee this happening.
Those reasons sound fracked up to the point of being bullshit OF COURSE THEY ARE! When you are depressed and suicidal you are not really thinking, simple as that, what you believe is not necessarily the truth.
You have become so desperate that all you want to do is die, so whatever reason you give for choosing this option will sound crap and annoying to those that know you.
I still believe all of those three things, plus half of what I wrote in the letter. I have been fighting and battling and skirmishing these problems since March, and the energy and drive has been slowly beaten from me (both physically and mentally).
Some days I really do want to die because I just can’t take it anymore. Not the isolation, the loneliness, the pain, the memories, the regrets, the loss of everything I ever had (something which you can’t even imagine, trust me, you can’t until it’s happened to you), not the monotony or the “whats the point in fighting any more, nothings ever gonna change,”
The hardest thing has been that I have in no way come to terms with the fact I had beaten depression, only to have it collapse around me in a matter of days. Overcoming something you’ve faught for ten years, and then suddenly bam bam bam a series of exterior (and some interior) forces kicking your ass back down; it really does make you think, well why bother??
Some days, I do wanna live. They’re just not all that frequent. It’s actually a testiment to how strong I am that I am still here.
Can I promise I will never kill myself or attempt suicide again?