12/4/10

so i'm having trouble with this whole life thing...living in general is a struggle...even more so now that i dont want to die...that makes everything a lot harder...i am living for my children but they drive me crazy...i feel so guilty because God spared my life and i feel like i dont appreciate it like i should...i'm sitting on my ass feeling alone and not wanting to do anything...i'll continue this later

12/1/10

I went to an AA meeting today.  It's the only place I feel comfortable and  happy.  I am always nervous walking in but the second I sit down and look around I feel at home, like this is where I belong.  I enjoy being around all of the men and women who can relate to me.  I feel like I belong there.  As much as I enjoy being there, I am still too afraid to say anything.  I know the time is coming and in a way I look forward to it, but I also dread it.  Everyone in my life judges me, my mother, my brother, my children, my friends. I know these people won't judge me, but I am still afraid.  I keep thinking that I could do it if I had a drink before, but that's why I'm there, to not feel that way.  Thinking about Christmas and New Year's scares me too.  How will I get through them sober?  I can't even begin to imagine.  I don't think I want to.  For now I just have to take one day at a time.

11/30/10

So...four weeks ago today I tried to kill myself for the fourth time.  The first time it was all about a guy.   I was a senior in high school and thought I was in love.  When we broke up I took a box of Dexatrim.  I threw up all day the next day and that was it.  No one ever knew what I had done.  The second time was in 1999 and I was using cocain and meth pretty heavily.  I had called in to work and my mother told me I was going to lose my job and then lose my babies.  I had just had my boobs done and took eight valliums and drank a fifth of gin mixed with Kool-Aid.  I lost a weekend that time.  I woke up Monday morning wearing the same clothes I had been wearing Friday when I took the pills, my friend had given me a shitty perm and apparently I showed my new boobs to quite a few people, but that was it.  Again, no one knew.  Then there was the incident with the Englishman on November 24 of last year.  Of all the things I had lost, I thought his love was one thing I could always hold dear, even after we had broken up.  WRONG! I was so wrong. He didn't have to tell he never really loved me. There was no need for that.  He was the first man who ever had (or so I thought) and that was taken from me.  My attempt was mostly a fuck you to him.  I envisioned cutting my arm from wrist to elbow, lying on my bed, and letting my arm fall off the side, bleeding all over the clothes he had left at my house.  Nothing would cut me.  Knives, a pizza cutter, even the razorblade he left beside my computer (which I thought was a sign from God) was too dull.  I called my mother and she took me to the hospital.  I was there for a week. We all thought I would be better after that, but I wasn't.  I felt better for a time, but I was never better.  Therapy and medication didn't work for me and I didn't have the drive to keep trying.  I began fantasizing about cutting myself wrist to elbow, as deep as I could.  I continued to slip into the dark hole I had been in before, or so I thought.  I was wrong.  This one was much deeper and darker.  I entered into a relationship with one of the worst people imaginable, although I didn't know it at the time.  Aside from the first six months of my daughter Mia's life, that was the happiest I had ever been.  With the help of my boyfriend, his ex-wife, and my high school friend, that soon turned sour.  During this time, I was reintroduced to putting things up my nose, which I love.  When that shit storm ended, I felt more lost and alone that I ever had before.  Every day was worse that the last.  I began to question my faith.  The fear of not knowing what would happen to me after I died, and the fact that my son Maddox needed me so much were the only things that kept me alive.  I was trying to accept the fact that I would live the rest of my life in torture, but I wanted to spend as much time with my children as possible, because I was afraid I'd never see them again after I died.  In the days leading up to my latest attempt, things began to fall into place.  Maddox's dad married a lovely woman who I knew would be a good mother, and my faith in God was renewed.  I knew where I'd go when I died and I knew I would spend all of eternity with my babies when it was their time.  Suddenly the two things holding me back were no longer an issue.  For three days I thought about little more than spending time with my papaw in heaven.  Alone time, which I knew my mother would never allow when she got there since she never shuts up.  Everything was in place.  After a night with my ex drinking and railing roxies, I felt like it was time.  I borrowed a beautiful big knife from him which I knew he wouldn't mind me taking since he had given me cigarettes to burn myself with. I made peace with my children that morning and found a nice vein to cut into.  What I didn't plan on was doing it in front of him.  That was a spur of the moment thing that I felt he deserved to see.  I had swallowed this shit load of pills and I could feel myself falling asleep.  Everything got gray and cloudy and my eyelids felt like they weighed ten pounds.  I knew when I closed my eyes I would never open them again.  Suddenly it felt like someone slapped me across the face and I heard a voice screaming "I want to live!".  It was my voice and I did want to live.  After that I only remember bits and pieces of what happened.  I remember trying to throw up and peeing my pants.  I remember feeling like my heart was going to burst out of my chest and seeing 224 on the monitor.  I remember being told my stomach would be pumped.  And that was it.  I was in ICU for three nights and in a regular room for three and now I'm home.  I'm glad to be alive but beyond that, I don't know.  I want to not only be alive, I want to live and that is exactly what I am trying to do.