The time I attempted to take my life, I had decided an overdose was the way to go. I was so scared of pain as I felt I’d had enough of that in my lifetime. It seemed tablets were a less harsh way to end it.
Little did I know that months later I’d still be here and content about it, not quite happy but definitely content. I’m the best I’ve been in years. I have a trained professional to talk to about my feelings, which I had felt I couldn’t do for so long. I can connect with people again because I don’t have that dreadful fear of humans anymore and I’m on medication.
All this is good and yet there’s still the irony that every day I take my antidepressants, it’s to make me feel better – but it always takes me back to then, and because of that night I struggle to take the tablets. I get flashbacks to the sickness I felt and I want to throw up. My condition has improved so much but there’s things that never leave you and I think this is one of them. Because of that choice I made forever ago, I now hate to swallow tablets and yet that’s the thing that’s making me better. Life always adds a pinch of salt but that’s okay because I’m dealing with the repercussions of it all and I’m grateful because if there weren’t any repercussions that’d mean I’d be dead.
Although it’s not nice to think of how low I was then, taking my medication doesn’t only remind me of how down I was but it also reminds me of how different things are, I’m not taking tablets to damage myself anymore; I’m taking them to feel better and I do feel better.