I don’t know what I was thinking.
I took 4 pills, and they didn’t make me feel anything… And so, I took more. I counted till 12 and after that, I don’t remember.
I just wanted to disappear. Or sleep for a few days. Wake up when things are okay. I don’t know.
An ex-friend told me to kill myself. That hurt.
I remember being at my grandma’s on Friday. I was already sad because my friends were graduating without me on Saturday. There was a shitty scene at my university, concerning my records. And it said that I am missing one course. Long story short, the coordinator was of no help, and he made me wait to register in the next semester, which starts in January this year.
So. I was already really sad when I went to my grandma’s. My cousins were there, so was my family. My sister, my brothers, my mom. My grandparents were happy. Everyone was happy. Laughing. Smiling. Joking around. And I was there, staring at the ground, wishing and hoping to disappear. Wanting to cry. But I couldn’t, because I don’t cry in front of people.
I looked in the mirror once, and I kept looking at myself. Another thing you should know about me. I rarely look myself in the mirror. And as I looked, I started having depressing thoughts. I am not good enough, a burden to my parents. I am a bad egg, the root of all bad things that happen in my family. Stuck, friendless, 25 and unmarried. Ugly. Dark skin. Ugly. Single. Lonely. Fat. Uglyuglyuglyugly. And that’s when I decided to overdose that night.
I hugged Maryam hard. Maryam’s my baby cousin, my favorite person in the whole world. She’s 9-years-old now. And that day, I spent time with her, because I wanted her to remember me that way. Smiling and laughing, looking at her with love. I sat opposite her on the bed, took out my makeup bag and gave her a makeover. For a while, I kinda forgot about my depression.
But as usual, it never left me. Soon, it was time for us to go home. When my grandmother hugged me goodbye, I breathed in her perfume, trying to memorize the scent. I kissed Maryam on the cheek. When I came home, I went straight to my room and cried. I cried until I was empty.
My brother called me down for dinner. I wasn’t hungry, I had lost my appetite. But I still went anyway. Sat down at the table, just looking at my family. Later, I came back upstairs. I was waiting for the clock to strike 12. That is when I took the first pill.
I had researched about it. Thought about it a lot. Since December 2014. I found out that overdosing on Tylenol will only make one really sick. And I don’t know. That day, I didn’t really think about it. What I was doing. I didn’t mean to die. Just disappear… and forget. All these things.
I messaged a friend, Paula. Penpal, sort. She lives in Germany. She didn’t reply. I messaged my cousin, Tabinda. She didn’t reply either. And so, I took 5 pills with water, with intervals. I was watching the auditions of American Idol. 2 episodes later, I had taken 12 pills. I started feeling sick, but yet, I took more. Finally. Paula messaged me back and I told her. She was very worried. She ordered me to go to and shove my hand inside my throat so I would throw up. Talking to her, I realized what I had done was very very stupid.
I threw up 3 times around 4.30 am. I wanted to throw up some more because I was still feeling stuffed. I tried sticking my fingers down the throat. I tried sticking my whole hand. I wouldn’t throw up after that. Paula made me promise that if I start feeling something bad, I will call an ambulance right away. I promised.
And so, around 5.30 am, I came to bed and fell asleep. Tabinda called my mom around 6.30 am. Mom tried to wake me up but let me sleep. She thought it was a joke. Tabinda called mom again at 10.30 am. She was frantic. And that’s when mom came to ask me. I was drowsy and I told her what I did. She was furious. Raging mad. She called Dad, and he called me a psycho among other things that I don’t remember now. But I remember their anger. Mom called her sister who lives just a block away from us. She came in, and she yelled at me some more.
So, around 2.30 pm, my parents took me to the ER.
After staying almost two days in the hospital, I am home now. And I feel much better. I am okay. Nothing bad happened. They hooked me up on IV drip and I’ve to drink this horrible medicine, every four hours for 2 more days. My blood tests came okay. Other tests came okay, too. I saw a psychiatrist today, and she put me on some anti-depressants, and said I have to take therapy sessions.
I don’t know what went through my mind. But I am sorry. I was upset and sad and feeling awful. Next time, I’ll talk to someone. Or write. Or cry.