A few months ago, on December 24th, I made my last post here (until now). I said goodbye and explained why I had decided to end my life. So I guess this is a sort of update for anyone who saw it back then.
On December 25th, my family was supposed to gather at my great-aunt’s house. I had already decided not to go. I had other plans with my pills. So, being home alone, I grabbed all the pills I had (which were a lot, because when you go to the hospital they give you everything you don't need) and crushed them to dissolve them in water. In the end, I drank that water... It tastes awful, btw.
Then my phone rang. It was my mother, calling from the family gathering, asking me to come because no one else had shown up and it would make my great-aunt happy. If she hadn't mentioned my great-aunt, I wouldn't have gone, because honestly, I don't care if my mother is happy or not. Anyway, I went.
By dinner I didn't know if the pills wouldn't work again or if I had just decided to ignore the effect it had on me. After that, things get blurry. I woke up in the hospital. My parents decided I would be sent to a psychiatric facility after that. I don’t remember arguing much about it… Maybe I was still very high.
I am not going to lie. These have been the fucking worst months of my life.
I do not want to go into detail about the place.
Except that since I live in a third-world country, obviously my stay there wasn't going to be a fucking dream.
Two weeks ago I was discharged. Now I’m back home, but I’m under constant supervision.
No scissors. No cutters. Nothing sharp, not even knives or pens.
I don’t have access to a lot of things anymore. Not much freedom either. And honestly, I don’t know how long this will last.
I guess I came back here because I didn’t really have anywhere else to leave this written.
Or maybe because no one even cares about me.
On December 25th, my family was supposed to gather at my great-aunt’s house. I had already decided not to go. I had other plans with my pills. So, being home alone, I grabbed all the pills I had (which were a lot, because when you go to the hospital they give you everything you don't need) and crushed them to dissolve them in water. In the end, I drank that water... It tastes awful, btw.
Then my phone rang. It was my mother, calling from the family gathering, asking me to come because no one else had shown up and it would make my great-aunt happy. If she hadn't mentioned my great-aunt, I wouldn't have gone, because honestly, I don't care if my mother is happy or not. Anyway, I went.
By dinner I didn't know if the pills wouldn't work again or if I had just decided to ignore the effect it had on me. After that, things get blurry. I woke up in the hospital. My parents decided I would be sent to a psychiatric facility after that. I don’t remember arguing much about it… Maybe I was still very high.
I am not going to lie. These have been the fucking worst months of my life.
I do not want to go into detail about the place.
Except that since I live in a third-world country, obviously my stay there wasn't going to be a fucking dream.
Two weeks ago I was discharged. Now I’m back home, but I’m under constant supervision.
No scissors. No cutters. Nothing sharp, not even knives or pens.
I don’t have access to a lot of things anymore. Not much freedom either. And honestly, I don’t know how long this will last.
I guess I came back here because I didn’t really have anywhere else to leave this written.
Or maybe because no one even cares about me.
