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I would like to get something off my chest. take this as what you wish; a poem, a confession, a cry for help, whatever you see fit. But take it as this, simple fact; today, I nearly committed suicide. So, you're probably asking yourself why or how? so I guess I'll have to tell you a story. you may not enjoy it, mind, but if you have made it this far, you must be curious, right? I woke up itching and aching from the mosquito bites and bruises all over my body, (I went paintballing a few days ago for my friend's birthday) and so, after taking some pain killers, my mum suggested I had a shower. The water burned at my swollen hands, it beat against my purple-bruised back and arms, and my hair was a knotted mess that I couldn't bare on my skin. When I got out of the shower, my skin was on fire; everything was so, so, so hot and my hair was disgusting against my neck and back which were already aching from lying awkwardly in my sleep I didn't even have any clothes to change into when I got into my boiling-hot room and I didn't want to just walk around in a towel. So I just sat. And cried. And yelled. Andcriedandcriedandcried. And SCREAMED. My mum was concerned, so she tried to help. But everything was already too much; I had gone nearly a month without any kind of incident, so I was long overdue. I couldn't stop scratching at the dozens of bites on my swollen hands, and I was just so, so vey hot. I screamed at her, and I couldn't help it. She was just trying to help, and I knew it then - I know it now. I heard my sister crying in the room next door, but I couldn't stop. Everything was just so ****** up. My dad comes storming down, like he does when arguments are actually getting somewhere useful, and tells me to back off and go back into my sweltering room. I scream at him that he's useless, that the only thing he ever does is make the arguments worse. I slam my door as hard as I can, and throw the glass in my hand. After that, I couldn't stop crying. the tears just kept coming, and coming, and I didn't know what to do. I wasn't angry - I never actually was, that is just a lie that my mood tells everyone when I'm depressed - I was just really, really ******* sad. I couldn't get the thought of the medicine cabinet out of my head; above the counter on the right of the kitchen sink. I couldn't forget about all the meds in a plastic Tupperware box; prescription drugs, pain killers, I knew that there was enough for me to do it, I knew that my mum and sister were going out, and that my dad had been told to give me space. I could do it. Did you know that overdose is the second most common form of suicide in women? Because I didn't. The thought occurred to me whilst I was sitting in my misery, tears still pouring down my face. Is it because it is just so easy? Is it that easy for everyone? Oh, sweet Jesus, I hope it isn't that easy for everyone. The scariest part of it is this; I get these thoughts maybe once a week, sometimes more. I am only 14 years old, and today I nearly committed suicide. I have great friends who depend on me for their emotional support, a promising career in acting, an amazing voice, good grades, a not-insignificant talent with sketching, and most importantly, I have dreams. Today, just like countless other days like it, I was completely ready to just throw all of that away. Now, I don't know if I will ever live until I leave school, or whether I will live until my hair turns grey and I am surrounded by grandchildren, but I want to get out a message; age does not equal risk. People doubt my truthfulness when I tell them about my health, because I haven't "experienced" enough. None of that matters, because when it comes down to it, all it takes is this; a method, a means, and a motive. Don't let anyone you love make the mistake I almost did.
0
Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 1:16 PM UTC
I would like to get something off my chest.
I would like to get something off my chest. take this as what you wish; a poem, a confession, a cry for help, whatever you see fit. But take it as this, simple fact; today, I nearly committed suicide. So, you're probably asking yourself why or how? so I guess I'll have to tell you a story. you may not enjoy it, mind, but if you have made it this far, you must be curious, right? I woke up itching and aching from the mosquito bites and bruises all over my body, (I went paintballing a few days ago for my friend's birthday) and so, after taking some pain killers, my mum suggested I had a shower. The water burned at my swollen hands, it beat against my purple-bruised back and arms, and my hair was a knotted mess that I couldn't bare on my skin. When I got out of the shower, my skin was on fire; everything was so, so, so hot and my hair was disgusting against my neck and back which were already aching from lying awkwardly in my sleep I didn't even have any clothes to change into when I got into my boiling-hot room and I didn't want to just walk around in a towel. So I just sat. And cried. And yelled. Andcriedandcriedandcried. And SCREAMED. My mum was concerned, so she tried to help. But everything was already too much; I had gone nearly a month without any kind of incident, so I was long overdue. I couldn't stop scratching at the dozens of bites on my swollen hands, and I was just so, so vey hot. I screamed at her, and I couldn't help it. She was just trying to help, and I knew it then - I know it now. I heard my sister crying in the room next door, but I couldn't stop. Everything was just so ****** up. My dad comes storming down, like he does when arguments are actually getting somewhere useful, and tells me to back off and go back into my sweltering room. I scream at him that he's useless, that the only thing he ever does is make the arguments worse. I slam my door as hard as I can, and throw the glass in my hand. After that, I couldn't stop crying. the tears just kept coming, and coming, and I didn't know what to do. I wasn't angry - I never actually was, that is just a lie that my mood tells everyone when I'm depressed - I was just really, really ******* sad. I couldn't get the thought of the medicine cabinet out of my head; above the counter on the right of the kitchen sink. I couldn't forget about all the meds in a plastic Tupperware box; prescription drugs, pain killers, I knew that there was enough for me to do it, I knew that my mum and sister were going out, and that my dad had been told to give me space. I could do it. Did you know that overdose is the second most common form of suicide in women? Because I didn't. The thought occurred to me whilst I was sitting in my misery, tears still pouring down my face. Is it because it is just so easy? Is it that easy for everyone? Oh, sweet Jesus, I hope it isn't that easy for everyone. The scariest part of it is this; I get these thoughts maybe once a week, sometimes more. I am only 14 years old, and today I nearly committed suicide. I have great friends who depend on me for their emotional support, a promising career in acting, an amazing voice, good grades, a not-insignificant talent with sketching, and most importantly, I have dreams. Today, just like countless other days like it, I was completely ready to just throw all of that away. Now, I don't know if I will ever live until I leave school, or whether I will live until my hair turns grey and I am surrounded by grandchildren, but I want to get out a message; age does not equal risk. People doubt my truthfulness when I tell them about my health, because I haven't "experienced" enough. None of that matters, because when it comes down to it, all it takes is this; a method, a means, and a motive. Don't let anyone you love make the mistake I almost did.
01/06/2018
Written by
Evie_Richards
17/F/UK
Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 1:16 PM UTC
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