On Sunday, November 18, I tried to kill myself. Things have been a bit weird since then. I drag my fingertips along walls and railing or whatever a lot more when I'm walking around.
My doctor said it's a good thing that I'm an Environmental Science major, and not a Biology student otherwise maybe I wouldn't be typing things out now. I only had to get one stitch and somehow that disappoints me. I played with the stretchy fibers of the inside of my right wrist and I saw pretty veins that I tried to cut but they were tough. Maybe they weren't veins. It didn't hurt.
I went to school on Tuesday and it was really confusing. I'm in a weird head space. I confused a buret for a pipet and I don't do that ever. I know my lab equipment. I cry almost instantly with sad thoughts. I have to sit down or go to the bathroom to bang my head against the wall to remind myself to keep my shit together and it's worse when I make a sound when cry-breathing because then everyone will know, everyone will know.
Things are strange after you sort of try to kill yourself on impulse. I gave up after 30 minutes because it was taking too long to bleed out and I don't know. I texted my brother, and then my dad, that I think I need to go to the hospital. I had been cutting since the night before. But it was only on Sunday that FUCK IT YOLO MIGHT AS WELL MAKE IT A QUICKIE right?
I remember waiting and sitting with my brother in the living room to see if my dad would pick us up or meet us at the hospital. I remember standing up and feeling woozy when refilling the warm water I stuck my wrists in to keep bleeding keep bleeding slowly nice and lovely. I remember crying. I remember watching the anesthetic being injected and the suturing. I remember the dressing. I remember being taken to a psych ward and begging to go home. The days after blur together. I feel lonely. I'm in a wonky head space and I stare at things and ceiling and lie still a lot.