The Last Month of my Life

So, August 9th I was admitted to Hendrie CRU, two weeks later, on a Wendesday, I was discharged I ended up being readmitted that Friday and was there until September 4th. September 4th I was discharged back to Common Ground's screening center where no one cared. I was crying and telling them that if they sent me back to where I was staying I would overdose, hearing this the doctor said "If you overdose, God Bless You.", and he sent me on my way.

 I was back in reality for a few hours and, even though I was in a house where I knew I was loved, after a few hours of being there I overdosed. I just couldn't handle life anymore.

Then, I thought of the family I would be doing this to I thought of April, Chuck, Kate, Ben, and Karl and how last year they lost Willis to suicide and how just recently they lost a family friend to suicide. Those thoughts, those people are the reason I called 911. They are the reason I am still alive.

A bunch of cops showed up, a firetruck showed up, and an ambulance showed up. I was patted down to make sure I didn't have any weapons, I was asked to tell the story over and over. All of this while my heart was racing, my head didn't quite feel right, and I could barely keep myself upright, and through all that I could do was wonder "Is this what it was like when they found Willis?", "What have I done to these people who have done noting but care about me?".

I was escorted to the ambulance, each step taking great amounts of concentration. People were staring.

I don't think there was ever a point in my life where I felt worse about myself. These people opened their home to me, and all I did was hurt them.

In the ambulance I was hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor. My heart was racing, my pulse was high, and my blood pressure was really low and getting lower and time went on.

When we got to the ER at Crittenton the first thing they did was stick a tube down my nose in the hopes of emptying my stomach of the pill fragments. It hurt so terribly bad, and I ended up puking all over myself. They emptied my stomach, but found no pill fragments, then they put charcoal down the tube to neutralize the chemicals from the pills. They did a EKG and put me back on a heart monitor. Physically, I was feeling better.

Not long after my arrival at the ER the moved me up to the cardiac floor because my heart still wasn't quite right. I was there overnight and was medically cleared the next day. One of the psychiatrists from the Behavioral Health Unit came down to talk to me, and decided I should be admitted to the unit.

A few hours later there I was, my freedom gone. They took most of my stuff, and did a body check. I soon discovered that I knew one of the patients, for reasons of confidentiality I cannot say her name. I was put in her room and we spent some time catching up. She was soon discharged and I miss her and worry about her everyday. The psychiatrist there put me on the highest does of my anti-depressant, gave me my Klonopin back, and changed my sleeping medication.

I then got a devastating phone call, I was homeless once again and this time my stuff was already packed and moved out. I cannot say I was shocked and I cannot say that I am mad, but I am upset. The only reason I am upset is because I found out through someone else, not the people I was staying with. It's just that I am getting really sick of people not saying things to me directly.

I tried finding a new place to go but it wasn't easy. Finally, I called a friend I have had since elementary school and asked if I could stay with her for a bit, she said yes and here I am. Looking for my next place to stay because I know I cannot stay here forever.

Life just keeps getting more and more unbearable and I don't know how or if I am going to be able to fight through this, but I do know that right now all I want is a place to stay long term so I can stop living out of duffle bags and suitcases.