What It Was Like to Call 911 for a Suicide Attempt
Back in December my depression hit an all time low.
I do not remember what set me off but I was upset about something. I was crying. Sobbing. The kind of crying where you can't catch your breath no matter how hard you try. I choked on air and tears. I couldn't figure out how to stop. Thoughts swirled through my head nothing really grasping or making sense, just a dizzying mess of negative thoughts.
Then the one that sits in the back of my head swam up to the surface. "What if you just ended it? Why can't we just stop the pain?"
Normally this thought doesn't bother me. I know it's there but it's not something I would act on. But I was extremely vulnerable and hurting a ton, and it became a serious option.
I opened my laptop and searched the number for a crisis line. I looked at self help websites But my screen was sort of blurry through the mess of thoughts in my head. I couldn't focus on the screen through the agony of emotions I was enduring.
I had pain pills. T3s. Tylenol with codeine. For migraines. About 20 of them. If I could only find them.
But I couldn't. My room got torn apart looking for them. For some relief from the pain. And then I got mad.
I couldn't find them. I threw books. Ripped paper. I opened a bottle of rum and started drinking from the bottle. I was scared of myself. What I wanted to do made me sick. I think I took a knife out of the drawer but I didn't do anything with it.
My whole body shook. I can't remember how long this went on. It easily could have been hours blurred together. I had been texting a few people but had long since stopped talking to them or told them to leave me alone.
I picked up the phone and dialed 911.
I explained shakily that I wanted to hurt myself, that I was scared and didn't know what to do. I gave my address and my name. Hearing the lady's calm voice on the phone started to help. She told me she had dispatched an ambulance. She got me to unlock my door and asked if I wanted her to stay on the line. I said no. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. Being on the phone makes me uncomfortable.
It took less than 10 minutes of me sitting curled up on my floor shaking and crying for the ambulance to get there. A police car had come too. The paramedic and police man knocked and I answered the door. The police man swept the house the paramedic was more concerned with me. I put shoes on: knock off Toms. The paramedic was worried I'd be cold in them but I wasn't. I was more concerned about being comfortable at the hospital. I walked out with him and I remember the lady across the street peering through her curtains.
In the ambulance he checked vital signs, asked if I had taken anything, got information. Paramedics are the kindest, calmest people. He was non-judgmental and talked about school and my friends and tucked me in some blankets on the gurney. By the time we reached the hospital I had calmed right down. The paramedics took me to a room in the ER, said their goodbyes and wished me good luck. They were amazing.
I am told what happened next should not have happened. I waited about half an hour in the ER room by myself. In the dark, curled up on the hospital bed. When a resident finally came to talk to me I was exhausted. I had been in complete meltdown for hours and now had no energy left. He asked a few questions that I can't even remember then told me I was probably overwhelmed with school and socially and that I could go home. To my apartment. Alone. He knew I lived alone.
I've been told I should have talked to a crisis worker or had a more thorough psych evaluation. But I took a cab home to my empty apartment and went to bed. In the morning I talked to my friends about it. My parents didn't find out for a few months when my mom found the ambulance bill.
I am embarrassed about it. But logically I shouldn't be. I shouldn't have to feel like I want to die. I should be able to be happy. And that's why I am home working on my health now.
I hope my story helps someone else. Never be afraid to call for help. You deserve a better life.
Thanks for reading,
Jess <3
I do not remember what set me off but I was upset about something. I was crying. Sobbing. The kind of crying where you can't catch your breath no matter how hard you try. I choked on air and tears. I couldn't figure out how to stop. Thoughts swirled through my head nothing really grasping or making sense, just a dizzying mess of negative thoughts.
Then the one that sits in the back of my head swam up to the surface. "What if you just ended it? Why can't we just stop the pain?"
Normally this thought doesn't bother me. I know it's there but it's not something I would act on. But I was extremely vulnerable and hurting a ton, and it became a serious option.
I opened my laptop and searched the number for a crisis line. I looked at self help websites But my screen was sort of blurry through the mess of thoughts in my head. I couldn't focus on the screen through the agony of emotions I was enduring.
I had pain pills. T3s. Tylenol with codeine. For migraines. About 20 of them. If I could only find them.
But I couldn't. My room got torn apart looking for them. For some relief from the pain. And then I got mad.
I couldn't find them. I threw books. Ripped paper. I opened a bottle of rum and started drinking from the bottle. I was scared of myself. What I wanted to do made me sick. I think I took a knife out of the drawer but I didn't do anything with it.
My whole body shook. I can't remember how long this went on. It easily could have been hours blurred together. I had been texting a few people but had long since stopped talking to them or told them to leave me alone.
I picked up the phone and dialed 911.
I explained shakily that I wanted to hurt myself, that I was scared and didn't know what to do. I gave my address and my name. Hearing the lady's calm voice on the phone started to help. She told me she had dispatched an ambulance. She got me to unlock my door and asked if I wanted her to stay on the line. I said no. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. Being on the phone makes me uncomfortable.
It took less than 10 minutes of me sitting curled up on my floor shaking and crying for the ambulance to get there. A police car had come too. The paramedic and police man knocked and I answered the door. The police man swept the house the paramedic was more concerned with me. I put shoes on: knock off Toms. The paramedic was worried I'd be cold in them but I wasn't. I was more concerned about being comfortable at the hospital. I walked out with him and I remember the lady across the street peering through her curtains.
In the ambulance he checked vital signs, asked if I had taken anything, got information. Paramedics are the kindest, calmest people. He was non-judgmental and talked about school and my friends and tucked me in some blankets on the gurney. By the time we reached the hospital I had calmed right down. The paramedics took me to a room in the ER, said their goodbyes and wished me good luck. They were amazing.
I am told what happened next should not have happened. I waited about half an hour in the ER room by myself. In the dark, curled up on the hospital bed. When a resident finally came to talk to me I was exhausted. I had been in complete meltdown for hours and now had no energy left. He asked a few questions that I can't even remember then told me I was probably overwhelmed with school and socially and that I could go home. To my apartment. Alone. He knew I lived alone.
I've been told I should have talked to a crisis worker or had a more thorough psych evaluation. But I took a cab home to my empty apartment and went to bed. In the morning I talked to my friends about it. My parents didn't find out for a few months when my mom found the ambulance bill.
I am embarrassed about it. But logically I shouldn't be. I shouldn't have to feel like I want to die. I should be able to be happy. And that's why I am home working on my health now.
I hope my story helps someone else. Never be afraid to call for help. You deserve a better life.
Thanks for reading,
Jess <3
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