#idk who im gonna put in the final slot yet but maybe i will soon lol

[unpretentiousblogging]

My first suicide note

Don’t worry, this isn’t THE note, merely me reminiscing about what WAS my first note. And anyway, starting my actual suicide note with ‘first’ would be extremely stupid and already declaring defeat...which is ironic, since, you know, suicide is declaring defeat from life in general. 

Oh god. I do this a lot. Use poor humour to deflect from my obviously concerning thoughts. But anyway, it’s fine.Back to topic. (side note; there was no humour in my first suicide note. Hmm. Maybe I should incorporate that in the next one...joke. Maybe.Hopefully. Idk)

Anyway, first suicide note. Ah yes. I was fifteen.It was..2014? I don’t really remember much of it or the details surrounding that year. Just that it was angry and sad and vengeful and full of so much...hurt.Against everyone.My friends.My enemies. My mother. 

Ah. My mother. A recurring character in every suicide note I’ve ever written. It’s not her fault. She is not per say a bad person. But more on that later. This isn’t about her. This is about my suicide note and how it ended up being the first one.

A lot had been leading up to it. I should probably avoid saying the work depressed since I wasn't clinically diagnosed, but a bitch isn’t dumb. Or I mean, she is. But not in this case. You know when you spend the better part of two months not talking to anyone and experience the crushing pressure of this giant, pressing hollowness gnawing-ness that stays there no matter what you do, that THAT isn’t normal. Or at least, it wasn’t to me.

Tbh, I don’t understand much of it. That feeling. What caused it. Why it became such a significant part of my being. I was just in a negative head space. I had suddenly become hyper aware of the farce in everyone’s interaction with me. I detested that I couldn’t study what I wanted to. I had just...a lot going on. 

And also, truthfully, I think I had been using too much Tumblr. I would see this constant downpour of emaciated, beautiful girls talking about sadness as skinny white boys with cigarettes dangling from the corner of their mouths would tenderly hold them and I guess I internalised that this was what it took to be loved and also all that life had to offer.

Love. What a funny thing I chase after.So uninterested but also so extremely curious. Sigh.

Also, funny how the very platform that propelled me into the state I was then, is what I have chosen to come back to while meandering somewhere similar to that state. Not really funny,but what did I say..force of habbit. 

Anyway, back to story. I was sad.Really sad. And angry. And the final straw was the fight with my mom. I don’t remember what it was about. Not important. Just that I realised that I didn’t want my life anymore. Any life for that matter.

So, how does a 15 year old, kill herself? Or well, try to. Because, suuurprise. It obviously didn’t work. I didn’t die. (yet) Or I wouldn’t be ‘’killing time’’ (haha) by writing this.

Well,didn’t own a gun.not smart enough to figure out how strangulation worked.House not tall enough for free falling from roof to cause desired effect. Too much of a wimp to cut veins.

The only other logical explanation was to ingest some poison. Painless. Bound to achieve results without risking grotesquely convulsing my appearance in the way that free falling or burning would do should the fail to work.

Now, we didn’t have any poison lying around the house but I remember how popularised the video of the Amanda Todd suicide was and how she mentioned drinking bleach to kill herself. So, my manic self rushed to the bathroom in search for my poison.

Unfortunately, I could find no bleach. So,I reached out for the next best thing. This anti acne product I had bought from Shams recently. It was pretty expensive and barely used but since I was going to die anyway,what was the point of me being careful with this overpriced bottle of skin care.

Yes, I decided to die by gulping down a bottle of a beautification product for my skin. Not only is that highly improbable but I think about it and snicker at the fact that is basically a twist on the whole ‘eat makeup to become prettier on the inside’ joke. I was basically annihilating all the blemishes on my inside by ingesting that bottle of toner. Pretty funny, if you think about it. Or just me?

To be fair, at the time, I didn’t think it was. I legitimately thought I was going to die.With my eyes sputtering out a tsunami of tears,I guzzled the colourless liquid from the transparent bottle and drank till there was only around 20 percent left. 

The whole thing rushing down my windpipe in one giant gulp. The second I was done with this I started freaking out. My throat burned and I felt this warm, icky wave of nausea steadily creep up on me.

You see, I stupidly didn’t wager that it would take so long.My juvenile brain had been expecting the job to be done quick and painlessly. This was neither and now my paranoid brain started whizzing like an unstoppable slot machine. I started panicking, remembering this post I had read online by this guy who recounted how his failed attempt at ingesting pills for suicide resulted in a highly painful stomach pumping experience and a life time of painful and uncomfortable digestion. I wasn’t prepared for that.I couldn’t not die and also end up with more issues on top of the ones I already did.

In a mad rush against time, I scrambled to get my phone and performed a quick Google search-what to do if you eat poison. The most frequently suggestions were to call poison control and to induce vomiting. Since, I couldn't really do the first one, I made way to the toilet and thankfully to my minor stint with bulimia (and they said eating disorders aren’t useful, pfft) , I knew exactly how to do the latter. Quickly, I shoved my fingers down my throat and attempted to force my alimentary canal to defy gravity. I alternated between this and ramming my toothbrush down my mouth and lo and behold, spurts of translucent chemical gush forth from my mouth like a faulty tap. 

At this point, I had progressed to full blown sobbing. I wasn’t able to successfully eliminate all the toxic liquid from my body and the purge had just resulted with me hiccuping incessantly and my stomach gurgling uncontrollably. Also, my mouth had a horrible aftertaste. Overall, I felt repulsive and sick and also glaringly aware of my soon to be (in my head) death.

In my misery studded mind, I made peace with my fate and decided that were I to to die, I had to make sure I hurt everyone who ever hurt me just as much as. I wanted them to feel guilty. Afterall, my death couldn’t just end with a bunch of people feeling sorry for me and the people who had done me wrong to not experience any of the anguish I had. So, I put pen to paper and began to scribble on an old English paper-my first suicide letter.

At the time, I didn’t know it was to be my first, of course. I thought it was my one and only. I dedicated this atrocious piece of writing to virtually everyone who meant anything to me in my life. Ex best friend? Obviously mentioned. Brother? Definitely to blame. Friend who cared but not enough? Special shout out.

But the star of the show, the main dedication of the bitterness fuelled literary rampage was  one person-my lovely mother. Like I said, not a bad person.  But just not compatible with me, to put it nicely. Anyway, the body of this letter revolved around her and how all the events of my interactions with her had materialised into this blame. If any one was to be guilt ridden after this entire ordeal, I wanted to make sure that it was her. 

Everyone else got a few sentences or a paragraph, but my mom, well she got pages and pages of my teen angst and venom against her. In fact, the opening of this abysmal note started off with something like, ‘’In case I don’t wake up tomorrow’’ (I wasn’t sure how effective the ‘’poison’’ would be. In hindsight, not at all), ‘’ you (mother) should know that YOU are to blame for all of this’’.

Pretty dramatic, am I right? Anyway, I don’t really remember more of what happened in the note, but basically, you get the idea of how it went, ok? 

So, yeah, after penning that intense piece of literature, I willed myself to go to sleep and hopefully die painlessly in my slumber. Or not. I wasn’t sure at this point whether I wanted to survive or not. Probably the most anxious sleep I was getting. After all, I didn’t know whether I was going to wake up the next morning or not.

Spoiler alert: I did. With relief.

And I tore up the note immediately. I think my mother had already read some of it but I am not sure if I remember entirely. I recall sitting in the car with her as she drove and a passing mention was made of it and all I said was that I had written a story in my notebook. And that was it. Did she believe me? Or did she simply not care enough? Or maybe her brain could not even begin to register that I was capable of performing such an abominable task. I don’t know. I wonder though, if she ever stays up at night wondering about what it meant. What any of it was.

I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even remember. I do. 

And that, brings to a complete, the pointless rambling of me and my first suicide note. 

good bye.

(we’ve reached the end. im not gonna go kill myself...right now. lol. maybe/ ok bye)

#suicide #death #ramblings