I was wrong

Back in 1978, I first realized that I wanted to commit suicide. I felt like a failure and like I had screwed up my life beyond repair and that the world would be a better place without me. I am sure some of it at the time was teenage angst. Some was probably due to the dysfunctional family I lived in (now I realize most families are dysfunctional some are just more willing to admit they are than others.)

At any rate, I didn't seriously try to kill myself until many years later. I was stationed in Korea. I was an Army officer married to another Army officer and I had two small boys and my marriage was failing apart and I was falling apart. I made some attempts to get help but was mostly greeted with sarcasm and disbelief that I really felt as badly as said I did. That was 1987 and I was 26 years old.

I overdosed on a non-steriodal anti-inflammatory. (Somewhere between Motrin and Indocin, I don't think they make the one I overdosed on anymore) I consciously made the effort to kill my self and genuinely wanted to die. I felt like my children would be better off without me. I took the drugs late in the evening and sometime in the night I had convulsions and fell out of bed. My husband at the time (who was equally young) picked me up and put me back into bed and went back to sleep. I woke up the next morning feeling even more depressed and even more like a failure because I couldn't even kill myself right. I spent the day crying and barfing up what looked to be coffee grounds (I hadn't eaten in over 30 days so there was no food in my system. The coffee grounds looking stuff was partially digested blood where I had pretty much disolved the lining of my stomach )

That evening when I felt physically even worse than I had before, I went into the emergency room in the Army Hospital where I worked. It was a Saturday night and when I walked in most people thought I was there to finish up some work or something. It took me a while to get seen and when I told them that I had overdosed and that I was depressed they pretty much went into overdrive. The doctor they called in to care for me was pissed because I had ruined his Saturday evening. He got there, ask what I had overdosed on, looked in the Physicians Desk Reference for the treatment of overdose on that particular drug. He decided that I need to give them a urine sample. I did but it was probably less than an ounce. At that point, the doctor came in and told me that I was probably going to die before morning because I was in renal failure and that if I did live, I would have to be on a kidney machine or get a kidney transplant.

They admitted me to ICU and started me on several IV's to hydrate me and gave me Lasix to get my kidney's started again. Part of me was mad because I was still alive and part of me was mad they didn't just let me die. I didn't mind dying but I sure didn't want to feel that bad physically or emotionally. I recovered well and had no lasting effects on my kidneys from the overdose. I did however spend about 6 months in a military psychiatric hospital. I realized I was not nearly as crazy as most people. I also realized that if you tried to kill yourself and didn't, they took away your clothes, lighters and sharps and all of your freedom. I spent several years in therapy and saw several psychiatrists, social workers, psychologists and etc over the next 15 years. During that time I made some very poor choices for myself. I do always manage to land on my feet though and most people that know me have no clue that I am anything but a strong confident successful adult. ( But then that is what 99% of the people believed all along until I was admitted that night in 1987.

Since that time, I think I have come a long way. I still want to die. I don't think death is terrible. I will never try it again though as long as I have living children and living parents. I learned is that suicide is the MOST selfish thing a person can do. I have known that for years but didn't really understand or believe it fully until this week.

Sometime between 3:30 Wednesday afternoon and 10 AM Thursday morning, a guy (Hao) I used to work with hung himself. His preteen son was the first to find the body. My first reaction was disbelief. I would have thought this gentleman would be the last person in the world to do something like that. My second reaction is grief. He was a truly brilliant, kind man. My third reaction is anger. How could he do that to his family and his son? For the rest of his life, that son will have the picture of his dead father hanging there burned into his brain. The fear and sorrow and helplessness and most importantly, the guilt will always be with that boy. I am not sure there is enough therapy in the world to get you over something like that

I can understand the man's depression and hopelessness. What I can't understand is how he could even for one second think that it would be okay to do to his family. I know that I was willing to do it to mine. At the time, I could only see my own pain. Maybe I have come farther than I thought.

Either way, when I feel really hopeless now and when it seems like the world would be a better place without me, I will remember Hao. Maybe some good has come from his death. Maybe making me watch and feel what his family is going thru will remind me to never go that route. Maybe it will remind someone else too.