August is over and I am still alive.

August 2013 was the beginning of the end or so I thought, August 2014; this time two tries but it still was not the end and in 2015 I gave up trying…. to kill myself that is. I will always be suicidal or have suicidal tendencies but as last month shows it is unlikely that anything will ever lead me to become that low again and no single month for me is ever as bad as August.

It is not August’s fault. There is no solitary scary nor painful day in particular that I dread the arrival of, it is simply that the last three August’s have coincidentally been majorly awful for me. March’s have not been particularly fantastic neither yet I soldier through them only figuratively pain free as the last few have incurred trips to accident & emergency rooms and even a trip to the Psych ward after my cysts have burst…. but let us not go there.

2013 was pure. It was real. The others were pre-meditated half baked attempts to recreate the innocence of the first attempt. 2013 scares me when I think about it. 2013 showed me my true strength; what I am capable of and what I survived. I should have died the tell me, I should have died says the toxicology report but I did not die and why I did not I will never know. I still have little remorse and I still wish I had died. This is how I feel and I am honest.


Last year I attempted suicide three times. I had burnt my oesophagus and intestines in 2013 but the pain of the 2014 attempts lasted months and took an eternity to heal. My mental state was at its lowest in 2014 so the attempts were drastic and often rushed despite having spent hours thinking about it. The worst moment looking back was the idea that suicide by overdose could be pleasant. Having decided that I was going to go through with what I affectionately called the ‘exit plan’ I knew that in order to carry it out I would have to be prepared so one afternoon, highly (deeply?) sedated I took a hammer, yes a hammer, and crushed some several hundred white powdered pills. It hurt my wrist. It took ages. I then put the dust into a lock tight tupperware box. In August 2013 I had swallowed a record number of barbiturates and then continued with everything and anything I could find including several painkillers, hay fever meds and antibiotics ( I know!) I think I even ingested cold and flu remedies….. so I knew that I had to take more than the original number of pills or else I would just wake up again in severe gut wrenching pain, miserable and have to face countless inane questioning on why I wanted to die.

The plan was to ingest as much as I could in as little time as possible. I had thought long and hard how as to how I would get the powder into me and had decided that ice-cream would be a great idea. It was ice-cream of a Frappe as I had been addicted to creamy iced coffees that summer. I went with the sweeter the better. The night it happened I had not slept for a few days and was in a moderate pain. I hugged my box of powder close to me and sat down to spoon it in. At first the ice-cream was too solid, lumps of powder sitting atop a frozen mountain. As it melted I stirred as much of the powder into the pot without it looking uneven. I somehow swallowed about a third of the concoction before my tongue registered the putrid taste and refused to swallow further. My mouth watered and my stomach clenched telling my brain to tell the rest of my body what I was trying to do. I retched trying to keep the contents of my stomach from emptying. I waited eleven minutes before stupidly trying to swallow more then vomiting continuously for the next few minutes which after I again tried to eat more but I could not stop being sick. I walked in a daze to the hospital and told a nurse what I had done, I also handed her a spare box containing a few blister packs of uncrushed pills incase I swallowed those too. I continued to be sick had my bloods taken and was seen by the psych team.

A few days later I felt worse than before due to my failed exit plan. I decided to take my most lethal med, the one the doctors refuse to give you too many of due to fear of liver damage or death. These pills were smaller, these I had been squirrelling away for months. These once ingested would burn my oesophagus to shreds, these would make me puke and shit blood, these would cause me problems. I never hurt so much as when I overdosed in 2014 for the second time in one week. I blacked out with pain. I collapsed several times, I was in and out of consciousness, but again I did not die.

This year I look back and sigh. I survived August. What it means I do not know but this year I did not try what I have unsuccessfully attempted before. This year I do not even want to try.

August is hard for me and I do not know why. I struggle. I am sad. So as I learn more and more about myself I realise I am happier for being honest. August sucks. My life is a struggle but I tell the truth, I tell it how it is for me and how it was. I survived August. Maybe I’ll give myself a high five, next year two and then maybe I’ll stop high fiving myself and just clap because I am happy to be alive.

Namaste xx


One thought on “August is over and I am still alive.

  1. You are a brave, strong person for speaking out on the topic of suicide – it has been considered a ‘taboo’ for far too long. As a PMDD survivor, I have felt some of the things you have felt, as suicidal ideation is a common symptom of the illness. Keep fighting, keep sharing, and I wish you love and light on your journey xx

    Liked by 1 person

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