Suicide, worth it?

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Jr. year of High School

For the most part NO! Do I think murders, rapists or child-molesters should commit suicide, if they feel guilty enough to do so? hell yes! If you are not part of one of those categories or a horrible human being, then NO….SUICIDE is NOT worth it!

The sun was beating down from the sky and blazed in through the bedroom window, I shared with my foster sister. The black light wall paper created a soul draining darkness in the room, as I stood in the center of the room. My heart was pounding and my blood was still boiling, from the phone conversation I had just had with my boyfriend. The very same boyfriend that was in this photo next to me. 

To this day I can’t even remember what the conversation and argument was about, but at the time it felt life crushing. My recollection of that day was that my high school boyfriend was going to go out with his friends or family, and I wanted him to spend time with me. Growing up as abused and neglected as I had, my emotions (or rather the inability to control them) were not rational to be certain! What ever was going on, I felt at the end of my rope. I felt helpless. I felt alone.

I did not want to be alive anymore. At that very moment, I was done! I was done being abused and taken advantage of. I was done with feeling disappointment and loss. As I stood in the middle of my room, thoughts of jumping from a high bridge crossed my mind, but how would I GET THERE?

Running in front of a fast moving car would be easier, I thought. Then I noticed the medication bottles on our night stand. I had heard about over-dosing on medication in health class, so it must work. As my breathing increased in rate I grabbed one of the bottles, removed the cap and poured the pills into my mouth. Grabbing a bottle of water I forcefully swallowed the remaining pills.

The memory is clouded, but I remember my foster sister was the person I told, after I consumed the pills. Like a whirlwind my foster mother had me in the car and we were in route to the ER. The ER was packed that day. The rooms were full and the hallways even had patients waiting for care. Only moments passed by before a nurse came over and forced me to drink some black crap (which turned out to be activated charcoal) . Gross is not even the correct word for the way it tasted going in. Horrific, is the best description for how it tasted and felt coming back out. Like a volcano, black sludge forcefully came out of my mouth. I could not make myself stop vomiting.

This happened during a holiday weekend (which ended up saving me) and since many of the mental health specialist were on vacation, I was to spend a week in the mental health ward before I would be seen by a practitioner. As a 16 year old, I had no true idea of what a mental ward was like, the reality hit me without prejudice or care.

Stripped of all my own clothes, I was made to shower with the door cracked open, so the attendant could make sure I did not try to hut myself. I was lucky this day that I had a medical assistant that was kind and not a scum bag. Luckily, I was provided a room to myself, but I had to leave the door ajar at all times. The only t.v. was in the main lobby, and meals had to be eaten in the cafeteria area.

The photo in this blog was taken around the time of my attempted suicide. Looking at it now, I can’t believe how ridiculous I was being that day.

Just like in a horror movie, there were people walking about mumbling or yelling at times. Some people had white helmets on, because they would bang their head on the walls… I was in CRAZY town and I was so afraid. The entire time I was admitted only my boyfriend came to visit me. My foster parents never came and none of my foster siblings.

This was back when Prince and Purple Rain was the talk of the town. My boyfriend snuck me a walk-man (young folk, google it) and the Purple Rain soundtrack tape. One of the attendants caught me with it, but told me to hide it in my pillow case, from the other patients. When ever I was not required to be out of my room, I would lay in my bed with the pillow over my head. Listening to the tape over and over again. Hundreds of times in the week. I knew every word of every song, and still do today.

The doctor assigned to my case came in for a quick visit, due to the fact he was going on vacation the next day for two weeks. After interviewing me and finding out about the years of abuse I lived through, he wanted to keep me for an extended amount of time. I freaked, in my head at least. Due to the fact that he was leaving, I got lucky and was released after a week or so.

So many things happened in my favor. I ended up taking a bunch of anti-biotics, and the doctor was going out of town. I was so lucky, although I did not see that back then.

Today I have 6 grown children and in a few weeks my 7th grandchild will be born. I have lived in many states and countries around the world. I have checked so many things off my list of things I want to do in my life, and still have so much more to do and see.

Back when I was 16 , I did not understand just how strong I was. To live through the horrific abuse in my father’s home, my step-father’s home, being raped as a teen, is just incredible. Nobody at the time was there to tell me I was strong, or that life will get better.

Has my adult life been easy? HELL NO! Life is not always easy and suffering is part of life. How we view and deal with the suffering is our choice and the true freedom of life. Even though PTSD and depression have followed me all of my years, the negative effects are minimal now.

Life is a choice. Choose life. Until my next blog, peace, love & happiness. Look for me on







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