Let’s get personal.
I attempted suicide on October 22, 2011 at the age of 13. It was the middle of fall. Spots of orange, red, yellow, and green cover cracks in pavement. The sky is a distasteful grey, one that forces you to feel nothing. My cousins are over; they watch movies in the basement with my siblings. I can hear their muffled laughter from my bedroom. Here, I embrace the gloomy weather. Purple curtains tuck away the little bit of light through my windows. My room was dark, silent, and evil. My thoughts were deafening as vicious voices proposed ways to die. Pills. Green and white prescription pills. Famous colours of the Nigerian flag. There are 8 capsules in the cylinder container. I chug them all. Waiting for death to arrive, I decide to make my bed. The taste of shortbread lingers in my mouth. I start to loose balance and decide to lie down. When you are about to die, your mind becomes quiet. Your muscles relax and chest feels heavy. Your senses heighten as your mind turns numb. There is the feeling of pills making their way through your blood stream. You wonder if this is what being high feels like. Then you close your eyes for the last time. With the faint taste of shortbread still lingering in your mouth.
One thing for sure, I was relieved when my eyes opened to bright florescent lights above my ICU bed. The smell of hand sanitizer and piss consoled me in a disturbing way. Then I looked at my mother. Instantly, my heart fell into the pit of my stomach. Regret flushed over me like thunderstorms in mid-august. As well as the mortifying feeling of shame that lasted the whole week spent in the hospital. I was ashamed at the lack of value I had for life. Even worse, I was ashamed that I FAILED at committing suicide. Funny as it sounds, failing at suicide was the best fail I have ever accomplished.
My moment of awakening after attempting suicide felt like rebirth. When I held those pills in my hand, I had made a promise to death that we would soon meet. That’s how it played in my mind. In reality, I had asked Death out on a date, and she declined. I didn’t deserve death and she didn’t deserve me. First of all, I would have been an unfulfilled 13 year old ghost who haunts for fun. Second, ending my own life would be like forcing death to go on a date with me. I’ve never been forced to go on a date. But I assume that would be unpleasant. Anyways, enough talk about my eccentric relationship with Death (or exposing my hidden dark mind). Death gave me the gift of life. Waking up in that hospital bed made me realize I was too young to die. I know it’s not the most insightful lesson, but it’s the most realistic. I had not acquired much knowledge, growth, or purpose. My life was quite bland, and death would have been dull. However, I would have been remembered for something. Yes, at the age of 13 I was known for my relentless amounts of gum. Chewing gum.
The first three seconds back to school were filled with cheering and “welcome backs”, the usual. Then ten seconds in, a voice from the back of the classroom hollered, “can I have gum?”. At the time, I found it funny and giggled at the domino effect of people asking for gum. Now at my young adult age, I am appalled at the legacy I had made for myself.
Please read this carefully.
Out of everything I have ever written on this blog, this line is the most important. We all have the power to write our own stories. I was given another chance to rewrite my life’s outcome. Hopefully, you don’t have to go through depression and attempt suicide to realize this. What you are doing right now, can determine who you’ll be remembered as. Do not create an image for others, but create one for yourself. Who do you want to be remembered as?
As traumatizing as my experience was, I do not regret it. I do wish I was stronger and did not allow myself to succumb to negativity. Still, I doubt I would be the person I am now if it wasn’t for it- dead or alive. Life is a journey that I intend to partake in. In over 80 years from now when I am on my death bed, my encounter with death will be much different.
My soul would be whole.
I know. Dark. But this is me. When I started this blog, I was going to keep it hidden from people I knew so I could be as raw as possible. But screw it. I am a writer. I don’t blog because it looks or sounds good on interviews. I have been blogging for 2 years. This is my passion. This is my purpose.