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Things I believe: There are no coincidences. There are no accidents. Everything is symbolic. Everything is relative. We're all a little crazy. "The truth is out there." There *is* something greater than us, only it's probably not other than us; it's more likely deep inside us. "The universe is shaped exactly like the earth, if you go straight long enough you end up where you were." (There's a Modest Mouse quote for almost every situation.) "All you need is love." (And food, things you enjoy and, occasionally, medication) That which doesn't kill us doesn't kill us. Breathe. Anyway you can. As long as you can.


Bipolar's Little Sister - Part II

As soon as the sun came up, I sent my mother this text. (She showed it to me two weeks before she died. I guess she kept it on her phone as some sort of memento.)

"Tried to kill myself last night. I might need to go to the hospital."

She called right away, talked to me then called my sister. I was sitting on my car smoking a cigarette when my sister, we'll call her Keira (as in K. Knightley because she's a smokin' hot babe), came out and started yelling. And crying. 

I thought she was going to hit me. I thought she was angry but wasn't. She was terrified. I was supposed to have my shit together when all of this was going down. I had lost it. I lost my shit and didn't seem to care who I left behind. That's not how it is though. Suicide isn't selfish. Not intentionally, anyway. Once you believe the voice that says "they're better off without me", it's over, man. So over. Try explaining that to someone who's never felt it.

My mom picked me up. I think Keira took little man to stay with my step-dad until my ex could pick him up. I'd sent him a text around 1am but he was at a bluegrass festival and probably passed out drunk, not that you could blame the guy. "You're gonna need to come and get (my precious boy's name)" It occurs to me now that was a pretty short suicide note to someone I'd reproduced with and been married to for years; especially a guy who had lost a brother to suicide only a few years prior. He must be a magnet for that sort of shit. I'm rambling again, huh?

I was getting pretty tired again by the time we got to the hospital. The fentanyl was still working it's way to my bloodstream and making it pretty hard to stay awake. I don't remember being triaged. Pretty sure they beamed me straight to a bed and started IV fluids. The room kept fading in and out. I was dreaming about being a little kid and how I'd never grow up to be this person, then how I was dying and would never grow up to be anything else. She kept telling them stuff about me. About my brother. I wanted her to stop. No one knew me anymore. I didn't even know me. She was just playing this "poor me, my daughter tried to kill herself" game. Or not. I don't know. She was probably busted to shit inside knowing her son overdosed and daughter tried the same. What does a person have to do to deserve that?

They asked if I wanted to be sent to a hospital I didn't work for, not that I cared. Fuck, I had interviewed for a position on the psych ward a year ago. It looked cozy enough. Hours after I'd come in, they finally got me stabilized. I'd asked about my liver but no one answered me. I think they were trying not to upset me more. 

I asked to be committed. When I walked in the door. Then, this nurse comes in for me to sign the papers and I start asking about the unit. Turns out I can't smoke, can't have my phone and they have pretty limited visiting hours. Fuck that. I was just kidding. I was then told with two signatures (and they had at least five) I could be admitted without consent. It was out of my hands. I couldn't fill out the papers anyway. That was probably grounds enough. They went through the bag I packed, took my blow-dryer, my phone and charger (like I brought myself to the hospital to call someone and hang myself) and, as we got to the unit, took my brother. Well, the ashes I wore in a necklace. The only piece I had. My mom begged them not to do it. She told them it wasn't a good idea. I fucking snapped. No more Ms. I'm-gonna-play-nice-and-do-as-you-ask. I yelled and cried and told them all to fuck off.

I'm not going to take your fucking medications or do whiny-ass group therapy and I am going to do whatever the fuck I want when I get out, which I will because I'm smarter than you assholes.

Then I fell asleep.


  1. Suicide is not intentionally selfish...you're so right!

    It ultimately feels like that to the survivors, but can't they see how desperate we are to have even considered it, let alone attempt it and some succeed!

    I love you Girl Interupted! <3

    1. Well, it is selfish in that there is suffering only to those left behind. I get that. I've been so down that I've told my husband I can't take it and I'm going to do it someday so might as well do it now. Once he told me if I killed myself he'd be right behind me. The only response I could think of was, "that's okay. I understand".