From suffering to suffering, he had gradually arrived at the conviction that life is a war; and that in this war he was the conquered.
Les Miserables by Victor Hugo
I thought those words would be my last to the world. Words that run deep from one of my favourite books. Aptly found in Volume I, Book Second – The Fall, Chapter VII. The Interior of Despair.
On November 5, 2015 I overdosed on 1500 units of short acting insulin, a bottle of benadryl, and half a bottle of vodka. It was not my first suicide attempt. The first was when I was 14. It may not be my last in my lifetime.
I did not do it for pity or attention. The elements that contributed to this attempt and those before are many and complex. Ultimately, I wanted to cease being a burden on others. I wanted to die. I nearly did. I awoke sad that I did not.
I do not now want pity.
I do think that things happen. Period. And I can only move forward, offering openly and with raw emotion my experiences, bearing witness to others in their struggles, and try to contribute in some small measure to the world I continue to live in.
I have not opened up publicly about my mental health history before my last post. I have occasionally alluded to the truth.
It is now time to say the things that could not be said before.
I have nothing left to lose – no home, no blood relatives, no career, no money, no dignity, no ego.
And perhaps by my candor, I might help save someone in the way that I cannot be saved.