Starting Over—Again!: An Attempt and a Second Mental Hospital Adventure

Part 1: The Attempt

T/W: mentions of self-harm, eating disorders, and suicidal ideation/suicide attempt.

Hello everyone, I have been gone for a little bit but I am back now and ready to write! Hopefully this will explain my absence. Also, if any of you have been feeling the way I did in this blog post please seek help immediately and remember that you are not alone!

Spring—generally a time of hope, sunlight, happiness and for those who celebrate it—Easter.

For me, Spring has been none of those things and Easter was a nightmare…it was the catalyst for all that went wrong as a matter of fact.

Well, I guess I can’t technically blame a holiday for my actions, at least not totally, but it certainly didn’t help.

So what happened?

Ironically, I have been asked that question since that day and to be honest, I still don’t have a concrete answer. Here’s what I do know, I attempted to harm myself—for a split second, I even wanted to die. I will spare some of the more gruesome details, especially because I am not trying to trigger anyone!

So let’s just say that after a day (really months but that day was the tip of the iceberg) of feeling low—feeling less than human even—I hurt myself. The impulsivity of that moment is truly indescribable. I just know that I felt totally out of sorts and I was in a headspace that I never imagined I could be in.

Now, I am not necessarily a stranger to self-harm, but for the most part, that method of “coping” was a rarity for me (unless you count my ongoing battle with bulimia—which I do and also used as a method of “coping” that day but I mean more of what one might consider the “typical” version of self-harm) and I generally didn’t do it.

However, when I started, it was as if a switch flipped on in my brain and I had at it. The minute I saw a steady flow of red it seemingly snapped me out of it and I had only two thoughts then—keep going and finish it or get help.

So despite my trembling hands and feeling of general fatigue, I called ‘911’ and screamed and cried to the operator in an effort to find the strength to save myself. She consoled me. She told me I would be ok and assured me that I did not want to die (something that I was still unsure of in that moment). Finally, after what felt like forever of me going back and forth in my brain about if I truly wanted to live or not and the operator talking to me, she told me that help was at my door.

It was an odd feeling considering I have anxiety, that I didn’t feel any for once when opening my front door. I didn’t fear the uncertainty of the situation either. I flung open the door, looking devastated and probably a mess I’m sure, but I didn’t care.

In that moment I was only focused on the fact that I had to get help and I truly wanted to—not just for friends and family—but for me. I actually wanted to keep going and stay alive for me.

Part 2: The Ambulance Ride will be up next Friday!

Published by gcalavano

I am a 24 year old who uses the following pronouns: she/her/they/them. I am queer and mentally ill and I’m just trying to live and figure out how to remain true to myself but also grow as I go!

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