It's the Friday now of Labor Day weekend. Normally I wouldn't think anything of it, but then it occurred to me exactly what this day is. Because on the Friday of Labor Day weekend in 2001, I had my second suicide attempt which led to my very first week long hospitalization in a psych ward.
So it's been 13 years since that day.
I can still remember almost everything from that day. I remember the fight I had gotten into with my best friend. I remember them taking my school photo and how I had been crying just minutes before. I remember being on the phone with the friend I had fought with as I said goodbye and downed the pills. I remember writing my goodbye post.
I also remember when my mom got the phone call from the father after Katie called him in a panic to tell him what I had done. I remember Daddy actually physically throwing me into the back seat of the truck (because I refused to get in). I remember lying on the examination table in the ER starting to writhe in pain as the toxins started to take their effect.
I remember how hopeless I felt, how much I cried as they took me up to the psych ward. I was in hell, and I had been forced to live.
And now I just feel disconnected from it all. I don't even recognize that Emelia. It's so far from the person I am now. But I can feel compassion and sadness for her.
Don't give up, Emelia. It will get better, and you will find the strength to keep going. I know it's hard now, but years from now, you'll be writing a book series, married and trying for children, and you'll be happy. You're loved now, and you'll find even more love later.
I promise.
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