Trigger warnings for lots of things. Depression, anxiety, suicide attempt being most prevalent.
If you follow me on twitter or have been updates then you already know the start of this story. Monday night I had a psychotic break and took a whole bunch of pills and then drank a whole bunch of rum. My dad had come home early from a revival and caught me in the process of, well, dying, and called 911. I stopped breathing on the way to the hospital, had my stomach pumped, and was plopped into ICU.
I’m alive and I am desperately trying to be ok with that.
I don’t feel like talking about everything that culminated into that 5 minute experience of “Yes, I’m going to do this.” Mostly because it’s too complex to adequately express. May is a month of sorrow on it’s on- Mother’s Day and the 10 year anniversary of my Mama’s death. Then the strenuous months of thinking my Dad wasn’t going to make it, the March Debacle I am still suffering from, and the sudden realization that the YA community is no longer a safe place for me to be… it’s hard. It’s hard.
It also feels like just another failure. Something I didn’t quite finish. It’s a good thing, I know, but I’m still wrestling with this restless feeling that I tried and failed. Everyone always wants the stories about people who realized half-way through that it was a mistake. My story, however, includes waking up in the ICU, puking black tar all over myself and thinking “Did I survive… for this?” I have two fucked up kidneys, a catheter coming out of my neck, and dialysis 3 times a week until my body sorts itself out.
I’m not suicidal now. I don’t have the energy to be. I do feel like I have this infinite well of unhappiness inside of me and we’re trying to figure out how to empty that. My therapist has been right there with me for the last 8 years and she said she isn’t giving up on me and my quest for happiness. I haven’t given up on that either.
My best friend (the Montana one, not the Texas one) flew down and has been handling updates, giving my Grandma and Dad some peace. I can’t imagine how exhausted she must be of saying the same thing over and over- Weezie tried to commit suicide. They’re in the ICU. They’re ok. Acute kidney failure, low blood pressure, they’re alive they’re alive they’re alive
She’s also been rifling through my mentions and DMs. I appreciate all the well wishes. I appreciate the initial messages asking me to call the Suicide Prevention hotline. I appreciate the love. I do not, however, appreciate DMs with screenshots of people saying they are furious at folks for posting suicidal thoughts. My pal, no one is more embarrassed that I’m still here than me. I have enough guilt on my shoulders without the added pressure of your opinions.
Early in 2017, a Native woman took her own life. She belonged to the book community. I nearly did the same. The book community isn’t a safe space for Natives. This isn’t up for debate. Statistics at this point don’t lie. I have another account where I’ll talk about books with my friends and that will be enough for me for right now. That’s all I ever really wanted, anyway. Just to talk about books without being accused of not being there for teens or being creepy because I jokingly say ‘book boyfriends’. My therapist and I talked about that briefly yesterday and she gave me a confirmation I really needed- I only have to be here for me. Because I am important regardless of what anyone else thinks.
I’m going to be ok, I think. You’re going to be ok, too. And if you feel like you’re not, we’ll all create new twitter accounts and talk about Nikolai Lantsov and other characters who are totally Queer. (I’m joking… kind of)
All my love,