I think I need to begin by mentioning the status of my mental state. I have schizo-affective disorder (rather a combination of schizophrenia and bi-polar disorder).
It all started when I was a child, approximately nine or so. I started to write allegorical stories, in which "my" family was miserable, and then "I" would kill myself, and then everyone would live happily every after. A bit of a red flag, that.
Later, in what I hope was a dream, or, if real, in an encounter with the most sadistic babysitter alive, I was given a measure of my lifeline, so to speak. We were all outside playing, sitting in the grass.
"Let's tell fortunes," she said.
She told one of the others a thing of the future. I don't remember what. It was funny, happy. We laughed. It was the same with the next child. We laughed.
Then it was my turn. She looked at me, and, in a stern yet calm voice, intoned: "You will die before your eighteenth birthday."
I don't remember what happened next, but it did affect the rest of my life. I didn't make plans to grow up. As my birthday neared, I prepared to leave. Once it passed, there was a confused relief; I had no idea what to do next.
Anyways. Backing up a bit. I made my first "suicide attempt" at age 13. What I've always told everyone- and have nearly convinced myself- is that I started taking the Tylenol, and that I just didn't realize I kept taking it until the bottle was gone. Truth is, I knew what I was doing. I took the entire bottle because I was mad at my father, and at myself (although I don't remember why), but then when I had finished, I grew scared, so I sought help. The reason I have lied about my motivation is that I did not wish to get into trouble. Feel happy. You're the first person I've ever told about that.
Years have passed. I've been on so many medications I can't remember them all, but those I do are quite a list. Currently, I'm on enough to knock out an elephant, and, although it does make me drowsy quite a bit, there aren't that many other side effects, and I can interact with my family and friends, a blessing that I know is not to be taken for granted. I have been in-patient so many times, I know the workers and schedule of my hospital at a thought. And, sadly, I can't even recall the number of times I've tried to overdose. The last is the most frightening, as each time I try, the part of my mind that gets me to kill myself gets closer and closer to getting it "right" with each try. The good news is that it's been nearly seven years (!!!) since my last serious attempt; the reason is that I was pregnant at the time (a fact we didn't know yet). They tell me that the overdose did not factor into the miscarriage of Alex a few months later, but I'm still not convinced, so, every time I think of suicide, I think that it might not be just my life I'm playing with.
Well, I imagine some out there are wanting to know my symptoms. The largest are the Voices. They routinely tell me how stupid, ugly, and worthless I am, and how much people hate me. They are they ones that try to get me to kill myself; I love life and have no desire whatsoever to die, and am very afraid the voices will bully me into dying. Also, I have low self esteem, paranoia, and a fear of crowds. While not entirely removed by the medications, they are greatly reduced.
I don't feel that bad about my illness, most of the time. I believe that for ever bane there is a boon, for every boon a bane. Yes, I am deranged- but I have two wonderful sons, and a husband who loves me more than anything. Yes, I am fearful and sorrowful- but I still have a close relationship with my parents (sometimes annoyingly close). Yes, my mental health problems may be contributing to my physical health problems- but my friends are so close they are family; they would do anything for me and I for them.
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