Journaling

Suicide Journal: Part Four

June 30, 2001
Why am I still alive? I really thought that after that last swig of Nyquil, I’d never wake up. But when I did it was terrible. I couldn’t keep all the pills down; my hot, thick, bitter life was laid out on the bathroom floor. I tried the drowning thing too but that’s impossible. Mommy heard the water overflowing out the tub and I just wanted it to swallow me up, instead it kept spitting me out. There she was. She broke the door open. I didn’t have a choice, I had to tell her. I got caught, I did not want to forfeit my plan. Everyday at this hospital has been a joke. Nuns come in to talk to me and I so badly want to play out some scenes from “The Exorcist” but this isn’t supposed to be funny. Everyone except for Dorothy has judged me incorrectly. I am a teenager, I do not know what I’m doing. I am weak and depressed and instead of a pat in the back, I needed a shoulder to cry on. I could strangle myself with these rough sheets, can’t I? Or I should try hanging myself? I think Dorothy was wrong, maybe I am crazy.

Suicide Journal: Part Three

June 29, 2001
“If the twenty-eight tylenol pills, the handful of prescription pills and half the bottle of Nyquil didn’t work, I was going to drown myself.” I told Dr. Flood that, he’s my psychiatrist. His response, “Do you think that maybe you knew you’d live?” Obviously, he wasn’t listening to anything I had said. Dr. Flood is such a weirdo, and his eyebrows looked like a pair of old dusters. “Dr. Flood, I was not trying to make it to the hospital. I was trying to get to the morgue. I did not do this for attention,” I told him. What this idiot failed to understand is that I’m not a suicide expert. The first thing I thought was “grab the pills.” Unfortunately, that was all that was left in the medicine cabinet. If I would’ve referred back to the movie “Heathers” then maybe I would have used the Drano under the sink. But I wasn’t thinking about movies then, I was thinking about real life. For the first time this week, I saw his eyeballs peek through his feathery eyebrows, and he scheduled to see me for the rest of the summer.

Suicide Journal: Part Two

June 28 2001
It didn’t work, not Plan A or B. I never met anyone that would try to take their own life but I can’t imagine anyone who’d actually have a Plan B. I’m analytical like that, thats why I’m here now. I have been in the hospital for a week. My nurses’ name is Dorothy and I can’t help to think about “The Wizard of Oz,” and how I wish I had the same opportunity as Judy Garland’s version of Dorothy. I wish I could click my heels and end up in a place other than home after this was all over. Dorothy the character made me believe in a world that doesn’t exist, clicking heels doesn’t solve any problem. She was stupid anyway, I would of picked Emerald City over some dusty black and white farm. But Dorothy the nurse was the only person that did not make me feel like a lunatic. She was nothing like the porcelain doll that played Dorothy in the movie. She was heavy set and Jamaican but she was real. She sat with me all night and we’d watch The Golden Girls, while she’d talk to me about her drug-dealer son.

Suicide Journal: Part One

March 20, 2001
Teachers only like the ass kissing students, the white students, the one black student, the Mexican student that never speaks, the athletes, the weirdo’s, even the nerds but they NEVER like students like me. I’m the student that has no apparent need, wealth, intelligence, stupidity or anything, I am plain and teachers do not waste their time on plain students. Plain students DON’T help “better” the class. Plain students DON’T give a teacher the opportunity to show off their teaching “skills.” Plain students just take up space. But they DON’T KNOW ME and I don’t think they have to. What I am going through right now is too much to explain and they wont be able to help me. It is so hard to pretend to be happy, when all you want to do it cry.

March 22, 2001
Most people would consider today a beautiful day. It’s not extravagant but the sun is making everything with a reflection blinding and the sky looks like the ocean, vast and full. In my bedroom the dark purple walls must have gone through some kind of metamorphosis last night because today they look like a midnight blue. It must be the sun and its egotistical light changing up the shades of colors; making my vision blurry from all its glowing glory. I guess the sun changed me too because I was unimpressed by its painful light and lately I have felt invisible. The sun was shining just as bright on the day the “beast” darkened my soul. The sunshine doesn’t make the day beautiful.