Never Going Back: Memories of A Suicide Attempt by Amy Kiel

It’s a bit daunting to say the word “never”, especially when we are referring to depression. Depression has an element of surprise and the benefit of disguise in it’s arsenal, but there is a part of me that believes I never have to go back, that I never will experience the darkest depths of depression ever again.

My Most Trying Times With Depression

I look back on some of my most trying times with depression now and I see that I have come so far. Even though I still struggle with the daily challenges of living with chronic depression, the worst of times from my memory are behind me. It was almost 5 years ago that I lay in bed one summer day crying and tormented by my mental pain and anguish, struggling with the decision of whether or not to take my own life.

I had been recently diagnosed with fibromyalgia and the physical pain I was in daily was intense. I had become a person that I never wanted to be. I felt completely useless to my family, my friends and to the world. I believed in my mind that day that the world would be better served without me in it. Even though I believed this to be true, I was still scared and a bit uncertain. So, in my bed, in my own quiet world, my family in the living room beyond, I grappled with spiritual beliefs and weighed the pros and cons. As the pain in my mind became too great I picked up my prescription bottle and began swallowing pills. One pill at a time with a sip of water. I counted each one. I took them deliberately and a bit slowly. I wrote a letter to my family. I apologized for leaving them, but reassured them that life would be better without me.

My Saving Grace From Suicide

I swallowed the thirteenth pill and shortly after my daughter came into my room. She was seven years old at the time. She asked me what was wrong and I asked her if she could get me more water, I had just run out. Her appearance in my room perhaps saved me or perhaps I saved myself because of her appearance. I somehow realized, upon seeing her, that I had to stop taking those pills. She was, before that day, an angel to me and she has been one ever since. I asked my little girl to get my husband. When he came to the room I handed him the letter, I did not know what to say. He read the letter and looked at me, saw the pill bottle and went to call my mother who lived close by. Someone called 911.

The experience from there only became more chaotic. I can barely stand to think of it for it makes my stomach turn so much. The dark black color of the charcoal, the tube in my nose and throat, it was unwelcome and yet necessary to avoid any damage to my body from the pills I had swallowed.

The psychiatric unit I was taken to was cold. The bathroom tiles were icy and hard. I was crumpled on the floor, ill from the charcoal, now vomiting and cramping. It was an experience I will never forget and pray no one ever has to experience. I cried and moaned. No one heard me. The next day I awoke, alive and well, but very grumpy. I was definitely not happy to be there. I wanted to go home. I wanted the nightmare to be over. I just wanted the pain to stop.

No Vacancy for Suicide

Five years later, I am here tell you, that I will never go back to that emotional place again. I may struggle with severe depression in my lifetime, as depression seems quite fond of me. It is honestly difficult to say “never”, but I know in my heart that I will not allow myself to get that low again before I seek help and let someone know that I am thinking suicidal thoughts. It is not an option to consider. It has been wiped from any list I might have of solutions to despair. It has been a remarkable road to here and while I cannot say that I have all the power over depression, I can say that there is no room for it here. When it comes to suicidal thoughts, there is simply no vacancy.

If you or someone you care about is in crisis, please visit Visit the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline or call 800-273-TALK. There is help available.