Member-only story
The Day I Attempted Suicide
We see how well that worked out now, don’t we?
The mid-90s. I can remember that only because of the apartment I was living in at the time. It was cold out. But it was a stone’s throw from D.C. so that narrows it down to any time within a six-month window. I guess it doesn’t matter though, does it?
I don’t even remember what it was that had me so upset. Funny huh? It, whatever it was, messed me up badly enough that I was in excruciating emotional pain. To the point where I didn’t want to live anymore. Now thirty years later and I can’t even recall what “it” was. Having had five concussions, I’m sure doesn’t help.
Was it a man? A job? A fight with a friend? Bills? I honestly can’t even remember. Not even the slightest bell. Knowing me though it was a man that had me so riled up. Heartache and heartbreak seem to be the most constant companions in those days.
Back then I hadn’t been diagnosed with anything other than depression. And it wasn’t bad enough that I needed therapy or medication. So the day to day grind it was. Like I was perfectly normal. Like society has anything close to a definitive definition as to what “normal” is.
All I remember is that in no specific order: I blew out the pilots on the gas stove and turned all four burners on, swallowed every pill I…
