August Attempt

The first time I tried to commit suicide, I had just been let go from my job. A job I loved.

I don’t think I’m legally allowed to say “fired”.

I tried by swallowing all of the xanax that I had (which was a considerable amount at this time, because as I said - I was happy at my job - and would just take the pre-filled courtesy refill prescription every month), and drinking vodka. I don’t normally drink - plus with my crohn’s disease it is not a good idea- so drinking vodka straight out of the bottle? This was pretty tough on me and I couldn’t tolerate much.

After a while, I was saying some *seriously* whacked out shit on facebook. One friend of mine - who is a nurse in Ohio - sent me a short message: “are you ok?” and I fired back “NOPE”, and after that she left me alone. A Minneapolis friend (N) was also on high alert as to "Jill-is-scaring-me" and I don’t remember much about him coming over, just that he came over as soon as humanly possibly to be with me.

In the meantime, my ex showed up before N got there, and just screamed at me about how stupid I was. He (X) then suggested I take more pills, to make sure I got it right. X started going through my medicine cabinet looking for more of my prescription medications. Now - I don’t know about the rest of you, but I have *never* kept any of my prescriptions OR OTC medications in the medicine cabinet. Maybe I’m weird, but that’s where I keep my toothpaste, razor refills, new toothbrushes, eye makeup remover...that kind of stuff. So I slurred at him to stop knocking my shit around, he wasn’t going to find anything there, and to just leave. The xanax was just starting to kick in, and I wanted him gone before N got there. X threw a bunch of empty pill bottles that he found at me, and slammed the door as he left.

Right here is where I was wishing I had access to the door camera like I did in college, just to make sure he left and wasn’t lurking around my building. He might have thought he was Billy Badass, but N...N would have smeared him into the hallway carpeting.

Pictured: Testosterone

I guess the lesson for me here is after milquetoast men I needed testosterone, but I digress.

I remember letting N in, and I remember the absolutely fantastic hug that he gave me. Being enveloped in one of N’s hugs is truly a wonderful experience. He smells delicious, he’s warm, he’s a good kisser, and he does not let go; a hug from N is so wonderful these words here fail miserably at trying to describe the perfectness and the feeling of *safety* that you feel while he’s enveloping you. After we went upstairs to my apartment - however - I don’t really remember much at all. I remember blubbering at him for hours. I remember him holding me, the whole evening. I remember telling him about what X pulled, and N said something like “oh please let him show up when I’m here” and I replied, “Funny, but no”.

As I’m sure you’ve figured out, I failed miserably at my suicide attempt. All it did was make me sleep - hard - for several hours. In fact, I think I just got up, got a drink of water, used the restroom, and right back into bed. I want to say that it took me approximately a week to completely shake off all those xanax.

When I failed, however, I looked online to find out why I failed. I found out that it’s not really possible for someone my height and weight to overdose on the amount of xanax I had, even with the vodka. I did my research, and I made sure to find out exactly which one of my medications would kill me next time, and I stored that in the back of my head. I have a large library (now) of things that would do it. It’s not something I’m proud of, but there it is. When you’re not thinking rationally you do some pretty dumb shit.

I never went to the hospital, because I didn’t have insurance anymore. I wouldn’t have allowed myself to go, because when I woke up I just felt...even lower than I did when I swallowed all those xanax, if that’s at all possible. I’m kinda glad, ‘cause I don’t think I want to find out what a Minneapolis looney bin looked like, especially since I was completely indigent at the time.

I certainly don’t remember a lot about at least three days of that fiasco. The only “diary” I have/had about it was facebook, and I was writing some seriously dumb shit. Any of you that know me well know that I cannot stand misspellings, and those days were chock full of them. Not to mention the ravings of a mind not under my control. It was certainly under the control of my devil-mistress, xanax. 

She's so cute, though.

When I think about what I’ve done to myself, I imagine that I’ve shaved off layers of my brain. They’re thick layers, to be brutally honest. I like imagery, though, so - when I took this large dose of xanax, thinking it would kill me when I mixed it with the vodka, knowing what I know now, that was the first slice of my brain - gone. It was probably not as thick as the second layer, which happened in March 2015.

But that’s a story for another day.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo