The Beginning Of The Worst Time In My LifeWhen I was fifteen years old, I could be considered...to be in the very weird/crazy stage. I had a multicolored mohawk and always wore mismatched knee-high socks. I tried out so many different things, so many different types of music. One especially intrigued me. Nirvana. I saw Kurt Cobain and I "fell in love." I guess you can say I wanted to be just like him. Unfortunately this obsession happened when I was also obsessed with horror movies and death.
So...I guess you can say, partly, that I attempted suicide because I wanted to be like Kurt. But that was only actually a small part. I have always had severe depression and I wasn't taking any medication. I also recently turned agnostic-so my faith in a god was very small. I wanted to see what happened in the afterlife. Also fights with my friends and family didn't help.
So, it all added up. I told my mother that I was depressed, and my mother loves taking me to mental hospitals for any reason she can get--she always has, and so she told me to "pack up my stuff" because she was taking me to the mental hospital!
That scared me. I have bad memories from the mental hospital. So that was the last straw of many, many straws and I took whatever pills I saw first. I saw Wellibutrin and Ibuprofen. I took the full, entire bottle of Wellibutrin (an anti-depressant) and about seven pills of Ibuprofen.
The mental hospital was about an hour and a half away from where I lived, so I thought for sure I'd be dead by the time I arrived there. Nope. The mental hospital was actually full at that location so they had to transport me to another mental hospital that was located another 3 hours away from there!! Keep in mind I never told anyone about the overdose I took yet--and I also had no symptoms from the overdose yet, even though it's been about 4 hours since I had taken it. Ironically, they had to transport me by ambulence. It was just procedure--they were ignorant of my condition.
About an hour and a half into the drive to the other mental hospital, things started moving in slow motion. It was crazy cool I thought! By the way, I have never gotten high before during this time. But I was definately high. By the time we arrived at our destination, I was actually pretty scared of dying. Really? lol. I was. So I told the two ambulence men about my overdose that I took 6 hours ago. But it took me about six hours to say that!! It was extremely hard to talk. As I found out later, it was extremely difficult to move at all. So they transported me into another ambulence and took me to a medical hospital.
I was in there for 3 days and I hallucinated like I overdosed on 'shrooms and acid. Like I was Alice in ******' Wonderland. It all lasted three days. I couldn't move, though, and unfortunately I remember everything. I remember having to be carried to the bathroom to pee and I needed help showering. I remember the nurse stabbing the IV in my wrist hastely, and I remember the water just leaking right out of my skin. They never gave me anything for my overdose. Not even charcoal. They were so rude to me too. They thought I was faking it for Pete's sake! They wouldn't allow me to watch T.V. or read. So I just slept. Luckily, I had my hallucinations to entertain me. Thank God I had a good tripp.
Anyway, after that, I was put into the mental hospital for 3 months, then put into a modern day adolescent insane asylum cleverly named an RTC for 7 months, which drove me mad because it was just like a prison and I'd hear screaming of my peers all the time, everyday--then they took me to Boys Town of which I had the chance to run away from and I did within a week of being there. Of course I got caught within those two terrible weeks of being free and got put into a detention center for a month which was actually substantially better than the RTC, then I was taken back to Boys Town---but put into a shelter. This lasted a month and a half. I convinced the staff and the state to take me home with my clever words and sly actions. I knew I deserved to go back home. I was put on a more stable medication and I've been home now for a full year and a few months. I am now eighteen. Anyway, I'm out of the state's hair and I'm a good citizen. I'm also more emotionally stable, but still suffer depression once in a while. (actually, more often than once in a while, but that's aside the point)
All of this happened because of an overdose. If I never overdose, I could've saved myself a lot of mental and physical injury, some of it permanent. There were a lot of things that happened during that year that I was away.
My advice is don't overdose!! I wish I never have.