The day before. I was exuberant in fact. I had made my decision. I kept telling my parents how much I loved them, and was spending an abnomaraly large amount of my day with them. I was ready very ready. My death date was pretty much ready to be put on my headstone. If I had, had the money I would have gotten all my funeral arrangements together. I laid down the list of songs I wanted played at my funeral. Pretty much all Elliott Smith. I thought it was fitting. I was watching my last T.V. shows, finishing my last book. Giving my dog her last kisses from me. The day went by so fast. When ten o'clock rolled around my parents went to sleep, and that was when I had my only hesitation. I wanted to run in the room with them and give them both my last goodnight kiss.
At ten I went into my room and began preparations. I wrote a the note. Explained myself to the best of my abilities. I ate my favorite food...fruit roll ups. I watched my favorite three movies one last time, Wrist Cutters a Love Story, Royal Tennabaums, Twilight. By then it was three in the morning, and I had to get down to business.
I had a razor blade in a jar on my nightstand, and I took it out. I turned my hands palms up showing my wrists, and I pulled the blade across my skin. It hurt so the first slice was hesitation marks. Still blood spilled from my arms. So I went to the right wrist and pulled the razor blade up my arm and I pushed down with all my might. I sliced through the veins, and blood oozed out. Quickly I went back to the left wrist, and I tore the razerblade up my arm as hard and as fast as I could.
After that, I took about 50 Tylenol PM's, 90 Clonazepam, and I threw in 15 Percocets for good measure along with a hand full of my dad's blood pressure medication. As you can imagine it took only minutes before the Clonazepam and Tylenol PM's took affect and I was asleep bleeding profusely. I fell asleep in a postion where my wrists were the blood was slowed down. I had them laying on the mattress.
I fell asleep at around four A.M. I had at least two full hours to let the medication and the blood loss take effect. Six O'clock rolled around and my friend Megan called, and my dad opened my door to give me the phone, where he found me bleeding and unconscious. The suicide note was laying on the floor near my door.
I don't know what happened first hand after this, but from what I've been told. An ambulance was called, and I was brought to the local ER here in Oconto Falls where my mom used to work, and where everyone knows everyone. Where my mom also learned that a shit load of people in Oconto Falls read my blog. Three people came up to my mom and told her that they read my blog on a regular basis. The told her that I was blogging about suicide and drugs. Duh. That's all I know. One of the nurse's daughter's read my blog, and the nurse was telling my mom I shouldn't write about this stuff on the Internet. WTF! Some people are so fucking stupid. Anyway that is aside from my point.
First thing the doctor did was stitch up my arms. Second he put a catheter up my yhoo, and took a drug test. My mom forgot to tell the doctor that I'm on 100mgs of Methadone a day. So they assume I OD'ed on Methadone and Narcan me. Thank God I was unconscious. After they narcaned me and it did nothing to help they had my parents go to the house and try to figure out what the hell I took. The only thing they could figure out I took was the Tylenol PM's. Which by this time had gone thru my system, and there was no way to undo what I had done. My liver was in for a hell of a ride. I guess my blood pressure was dangerously low, and I was in for some heart problems. Oconto Falls ER couldn't move to a hospital in Green Bay by ambulance until I was in stable condition.
After an hour of keeping my parents out of the room, they let my mom in too see me. She said I was blue, which means my body was shutting down, I wasn't getting enough oxygen. My blood vessels were constricting, and my organs were shutting down. It was hard for the nurse to find any veins in my body. After being a IV drug user for seven years, and having my blood vessels constricting it was nearly impossible for them to find a vein. They ended up using a needle they use on newborns, because all they could find was a small vein in my arm next to the old vein that used to my main line. The vein I could always hit no matter what, that was until it collapsed on me. Fucking vein.
Anyway, they couldn't get me into stable condition, so they transferred me by ambulance in critical condition. In the Auroa Hospital in Green Bay they gave me something to wake me up. I woke up in complete and utter with drawls. Plus I could speak normally or move. So they had me write down the medications I took. After I woke up I kept taking my IV out because I was extremely pissed off. I fucking failed, and I was dope sick, and the doctor kept saying your lucky to be alive, and I started fucking swearing at him, and made him get the forms for me sign so that I could be DNR, aka do not resuscitate papers.
By this time my mom had told the doctor that I was on Methadone maintenance treatment. My mom said the doctor just rubbed his chin for a few seconds thinking to himself. Then he realized that is why I was screaming for Methadone. They couldn't give me any methadone until I was in stable condition and that took two fucking days. For those two days there was a nurse's aid sitting within hands reach of me so that I didn't try to kill myself again.
On the third day my liver began to fail, and it was the most pain full thing I ever felt. I was vomiting, and in sever pain. So much pain that the doctor gave me morphine even though he knew I was an addict. The morphine they gave me didn't touch the fucking pain. Then they gave this medication that smelled like sulfur or rotten eggs, and I had to drink it. I refused to drink it. Then my friend Megan came up to the hospital and she was crying and crying, and they kept coming my room to try to get me to take this medication and I would not take it. It made Megan cry even more, so finally I took one of the doses in front of Megan to stop her from crying.
I could hardly breath, and I was vomiting every few minutes and my liver hurt like a son of bitch. After I took that dose of the medication that tasted and smelled like rotten eggs I started to feel better so I took it every four hours and it stopped the pain, and finally the doctor came in the room with ten methadone pills for me. By this time I was in stable condition and was getting out the next day. I wasn't going home though, I was going to Brown County Mental Health now known as Nicolet mental health center. It was a new building. It was much nicer than the old Mental Health center in Brown County. We had private rooms, and a place to go outdoors. Two different lounges, and in both lounges they had huge flat screen T.V.'s.
While in the nut house I got my methadone everyday, and my Clonazepam's along with other phsycotropic drugs. I was there four two weeks exactly. I had to go to court twice to see if I should be released into society or if I needed to be hospitalized for up to six months. Luckily after two evaluation from two different doctors I was deemed no longer a danger to myself and was made to take my medication, and attend counseling once a week for what will probably be the rest of my fucking life, and I was released into my parents custody.
I got my Sunday take home Methadone doses taken away, because the doctors at the Methadone clinic thought that I might try to save up my take homes and kill myself with that. Good call on their part, I had planned on that course of suicide. I didn't give a shit when they took away my take homes, because while in the nut house one of the doctors that evaluated me was the Suboxone Doctor. I had looked into Suboxone before and found that there were no doctors in the immediate area that were taking on new patients. Some how when the doctor who wasn't taking on new patients said he would take me on, even though he wasn't taking my insurance nor new patients, he said he though I was smart and savable. Non of which I believe, but whatever, at least I'll get off the Methadone, and on Suboxone, and back on Ritalin which helps me write alot better, and also keeps me skinny, and helps me reach goals I set for myself.
So on June 11th at 11 A.M. I will no longer be a patient of the Methadone clinic. I will no longer crave carbs, and I won't sleep all day, and I will have extra energy to work out really hard and I'll also be on Nurti System, and I will be skinny by this winter. Also by this winter I will have five thousand dollars saved, and I will be moving to Hawaii. Going to Hawaii Pacific University.
See I'm not suicidal any more. I'm excited about the fucking future. I'm so glad to be getting off the Methadone. I can't even convey how happy I am to get off this shit. I'd rather be strung out than on Methadone. The fucking shit made me fat as I've ever been, it took away my libido, and makes me sweat like I'm some kind fat sweating machine.