The Night I Killed Myself... Not A Joke... A Serious Story of Suicide... All Of The Lights...

First of all, we won't play the blame game... there's really no point and in actuality, the only person responsible for that happened to me that night was me...  you can't hold anyone else accountable when you make a very conscious (and insane) decision to kill yourself... but before we get there, the stage has to be set. 

I'm not exactly sure what day it was that I completely lost it, what I do know is that Amber and I had been at odds about a multitude of things and oddly enough, her position was completely legitimate. I know it might serve the masses who read my blogs, because they're supporters of me, to hear that at this point she did something wrong, but in actuality, no... she didn't do anything. I was already in a bad way because this was the first time our relationship had fallen apart and I wanted to talk, she wasn't having it and I didn't know how to manage my emotions. You have to understand me and who I am at this point (and really to a certain degree even now), I struggle with emotion management. I'm either very high or very low... I either am super confident or I'm a shell with no belief in myself. So Amber had left and I was in a very bad way... so I started to see someone to help me manage the emotional loss of Amber. Whelp one night something (I really don't remember what) happened that caused me to go into emotional upheaval. And for some reason (like it tends to happen when I reach my emotional ropes end), I snapped... I found a bottle of gain alcohol, about 30 antidepressants, smoked some weed that was probably laced with something, popped some ecstasy pills, loaded my 9mm handgun, got in my car and I started driving... yes, I was drinking the bottle as I was driving...


It's strange being in that place. Oh sure a lot of people ponder killing themselves, but it's like biting into your own skin... oh sure you think you can do it, until you see your own blood... then it becomes real... I know I spoke to my therapist while doing 108MPH over the Dames Point bridge, cutting off cars, waving a loaded gun out the window. I had gone to a place of pure insanity... and rather than leave out the emergency exit... I treated it like the killing joke... for some reason I waned to be that man in Burma and watch the world burn... Funny, I shouldn've been able to see the signs of where I could go if I wasn't in control of my emotions, but that night... I really just didn't care... that night, I had made a firm decision to end it, but rather than end it in such a way that was finite, I wanted to go out in a blaze of glory... make it something that folks would talk about throughout the ages... or at least in a very high and drunk state that's what I thought.


So I just was driving down A1A on the phone with my therapist rambling... rambling in a drunk state while switching lanes and pointing my pistol at anyone who dared to honk their horn... I had no shirt on... just a wife beater and some jeans... I had no idea where I was going and I guess my therapist couldn't figure out where I was with all my drunk rambling, but she didn't want to disconnect the phone. You know, when I look back on it.. if the phone hadn't disconnected, I think she may have been able to save me from what would come next, but unfortunately, it just wasn't meant to be... the phone disconnected on A1A (as it does for everyone) right as it becomes a 2 lane road when you're headed to St. Augustine. I ended up taking it all the way to St. Augustine, crying about Amber, crying about money, crying about my mother hating who I was... I was in complete shambles. Don't ask me how I managed to make it to St. Augustine from Jacksonville, but I did... and when I got to the place I'd take my last breath... my brother called...

The Quality Inn that I died in...


Things get foggy from a personal perspective once I arrive at the hotel. The video cameras and police report speak on and show me stumbling out of my car, dropping my pistol and laying on the cement for over 10 minutes. I then get up, place the gun in the trunk of the car and wander into the hotel and demand a room. The woman at the desk, who can tell I'm clearly not in my right mind ask me if I have any much, to which I replied I don't... but then my brother called my cell phone. I'm not sure of the details of the conversation, but I apparently asked him to pay for the room. I had the phone to the lady at the desk and she agrees to let  him pay for the room... as she does that she stated that I began walking in circles and then collapsed on top of her glass coffee table, breaking it and cutting myself up. And then I stopped breathing. It didn't take the police and EMTs to get there, but at that point I was basically gone...I don't know the guys name who decided to hit me with the defibrillator for the fourth time, but he did and I woke up. 


Okay, so the part everyone always asks me, "did you see angels? Where there devils reaching out for you? Did you see a bright light." Um... fuck no. It was just dark... really quiet and dark, but I felt... weightless... I had no mass. And as bad as this sounds to some people, this was the best sleep I got in my LIFE! The annoying shit was coming back here... because I don't remember those first three times they hit me with the defibrillator, but that fourth one hurt like a mothafucka and woke me out of that sleep. As soon as they hit me I do remember trying to jump up, but I was in a EMT vehicle and that immediately stabbed me in the arm and put me back to sleep. 

You know, you'd like to believe that whenever you wake up and your dick is in the soft hands of a woman that nothing can be better.... but not the case if that bitch got a catheter in her other hand. "You're gonna feel a little pinch..." YOU LYING ASS BITCH!!!!! I FELT MORE THAN A GODDAMNED PINCH!!! I FELT LIKE I SHOULD'VE REPORTED YOU FOR A SEX CRIME!!!! But, she was saving me from my own stupidity as they had to immediately remove the toxic I put in myself out.

Then this shit, I got a tube put down my throat and was pumped with liquid charcoal, which apparently absorbs toxins that you put into your body and also disrupts your stomach to make sure you... um... remove them yourself as well... Needless to say being brought back to life is way less fun than just stay dead, I can tell you that much right now. 

So in the great state of Florida, if you decide to off yourself, and you manage to accomplish it, and they have to bring you back to life, and the succeed and they can't get a hold of a relative... you get what's called Baker Acted. What is that you ask? Well you're deemed unstable and put in a ward with a bunch of other people who aren't wrapped to tight. Problem with that is most people who try to kill themselves aren't really crazy... they're probably stressed... but not nuts in the long term clinical sense. Nonetheless, I was handcuffed to my bed and I woke up in a padded room.  Eventually they uncuffed me and I wasn't forced to sit in the padded room, but my shoe laces were take, my belt was taken, and ultimately, my dignity... It's humbling and life changing to be somewhere you can't leave (when they Baker Act you, even after they find your family you're stuck there for 72hrs until you're deemed safe to take care of yourself). And the thing is, if you're not crazy and you stay around crazy people for long enough, you start to think you might just be crazy. When you can have a normal conversation with a person with multiple personalities and manage the convo... it's time to bounce before you get stuck in that mindset. Well, I wasn't real big on participating in the little group discussions, I was still not in my right mind from what happened and I was in pain from the defibrillator. I called some folks when I got access to a phone, many didn't come see about me and others did. Eventually I got out and was assigned to River Point for substance abuse treatment. Since then it hasn't been easy... but it definitely has been life changing.


Well, what I can tell you now is I'm glad I'm not dead... that I think I'm clear on. The thing about pain is you have to feel it... all of us... we have to feel it. It's what keeps us grounded... lets us know we're real... lets us know there is a God out there somewhere. And even if you feel like he's forsaken you, that pain is him letting you know he's there and you just need to take a few steps toward him to make that go away. Suicide is no joke... depression is no joke... mental health is no joke.  The black community looks down on so many of these issues and so many people think they understand how people who get this low feel and like to call it selfish to try to kill yourself. I don't know, maybe it is... but aren't we all selfish on some level? Ultimately, it should never be able that person being selfish, but rather how can you helped them by allowing them to see the need to help themselves. Believe me, I'm still working on it.. So when I miss Ashton I those tears start running I just tell myself, "don't trip B. He ain't through with you yet."








1 comments:

Anonymous said...

Thank you for sharing this piece of you with us. In our community, we are raised 'what goes on in this house stays in this house' or, to seek help from a therapist is looked at with disdain. Mental health wellness/illness is real. You have a true gift for writing and accounting events, this you already know. I felt like I was a 'fly on the wall' as I read this blog entry. All of our life events whether good or bad shape us into who we are today, and what we will be in the future. Keep making your mark. You just may save someone's life.
Toy