Why I tried to commit suicide?
AnswerThe decision to commit suicide is not always contemplated. Sometimes it's just done without hesitation, which is what I attempted to do when I did not have any money left to buy crack.
In my memoir, I write that . . .
No one knows that the ambulance is rushing me to the hospital. My nosy neighbors were not around when the ambulance comes to my apartment to pick me up.
I am strapped to a gurney. My arms and legs are limp and numb from the tight strap. I’m dizzy from the rush of blood bulging in my head. My breathing is heavy and hurried from the pressure of the rigid straps crossing my chest.
As the screaming siren pierces my ear drums, I can picture the ambulance maneuvering through the traffic, squeezing be- tween cars and trucks, opening up a path leading to the nearest hospital.
The medic tells me to inhale slowly. “Calm down,” he says to me. “You’re going to be alright. … Just relax.”
I try to talk through parched lips, wanting to tell him that I don’t want to be alright. I want to die.
I don’t know how much time has passed when the Ambulance finally pulls up to the hospital. I am rushed into the emergency room, then to a private room where I am lifted from the gurney and strapped onto a bed. A doctor asks me a flurry of questions. Why did I take the pills?
I describe the pills I had taken, which the doctor identifies as Lithium, an anti-depressant lethal enough to kill me. The doctor gives a choice to either drink charcoal or get my stomach pumped. I don’t want a tube shoved down my throat, so I decide to go with the charcoal, not knowing how repugnant the taste will be.
A cup of charcoal is held to my mouth. I quickly gulp down the pasty, bitter tasting liquid. I had taken over fifteen Lithium pills. Death, if it comes, will be slow and agonizing Unlike swallowing a handful of Valium, I will not die quietly in a coma. There is the high probability that my heart, liver or kidney will fail, a very good chance that I will die from a complete organ breakdown instead. Even worst is the possibility that I just might survive, only to have to live with multiple damages to my vital organs.
Within minutes of drinking the charcoal, I begin to throw up. My lungs, chest and stomach heave up and down, out of my control. I spew out mouthfuls of black, sticky, clumps of vomit, speckled with a smattering of bright, red shells of the undigested pills. A large bucket is held under my mouth, which I can barely reach because the straps holding me down are tight and unyielding.
I’m drooling. No one wipes my mouth. I’m left grasping for air, sweaty, nauseous and convinced that the vital organs the hospital so desperately wants to protect now lay in the bucket.
“I don’t want to die,” I manage to say between breaths.
“That’s not up to me,” he responds. “You better pray.”
Search result for 'Pills' in Don't Tell Me What To Do: A Spiritual Memoir
Chapter 8: Interment - 1981-1986168.
"... I found him waiting in the back of the building. I slipped through the door. He slide his hands into a pair of rubber gloves and examined me. “Yep,” he said without hesitation. “You got it. I can give Pills or give you a needle. Choose your medicine.” “Give me the pills.” I hated ..."169.
"... me. “Yep,” he said without hesitation. “You got it. I can give pills or give you a needle. Choose your medicine.” “Give me the Pills.” I hated needles. “The pills will take a little longer to work,” he advised. “Give me the pills anyway.” ..."170.
"... give pills or give you a needle. Choose your medicine.” “Give me the pills.” I hated needles. “The Pills will take a little longer to work,” he advised. “Give me the Pills anyway.” ***** In my position where I was regularly ..."
Chapter 10: Epilogue: Philadelphia 2005
"...Pills I’ve tried praying. God prevented me from killing myself without ending my addiction to crack. Why should I go on praying and believing? “I’ve talked to God,” I say to Chuck as I feel a sharp pain in my neck, “but he ain’t listening.” ..."