Trigger Warning: Graphic account of a suicide attempt
I recently attempted suicide. At least I think I did, does it count if you don’t pull the trigger, so to speak, rather you try to get someone else to do it for you? I think it does, so I’m going to count this as an attempt rather than a para-suicidal gesture. At least in a rather sick way, I suppose, it makes me rather happy to count this as an attempt as it means I have tempted the fates and I am still alive and kicking. And I like to think that it might teach me a bit about myself, hopefully something I didn’t already know about me is enlightened each time I do something like this. That being said I do agree and acknowledge that it isn’t a good thing and Im not attempting to say that it is, rather I am trying to write something that people will actually read, and at the same time sort out my thoughts on what happened to me. Maybe I will get lucky and someone will decide from reading this not to go down the same road I did. It’s the hope anyway.
So a few weeks ago I was hanging out with some friends getting totally wasted, something that seemed at the time to be happening with ever more regularity… More on that later. Anyway, during this evening of mind-numbing drinking I found out that my girlfriend at the time was breaking it off with me. And this combined with the copious amounts of alcohol, really I think it was just the copious amounts of alcohol that were coursing through me and I am just using her as an excuse, but whatever. Someone else can analyze my reasons later. Anyway (I think I say anyway too often), I text-messaged a friend and informed her that I was going to commit suicide.
She texts back to advise me against such an irrational course of action but I keep it up and tell her that I am really going to do it, no ifs ands or buts. So she does the only thing that a loving friend can do in that situation, she calls in the professionals. I finish my tirade of suicidality by asking her not to call the police, to which she responds that it is too late for that.
I inform my friends that the police are on the way, so they had better gather their things and head for the exits as this ship is going down fast. I hide in my apartment preparing for what I hope will be the fatal confrontation with the police. My friend texts me, as it seems that both she and the police have arrived at the same time, or she has met them at my apartment, and that maybe I would like to meet them outside. I dont know why I did it, but I think I wanted them to shoot me. I took a folding tactical knife downstairs with me to go meet the police.
Coming out of my building I actually walked passed the officers as they were approaching and turned around behind them brandishing my weapon. They told me to drop it, and I looked them in the eye, and defiantly said, “No!”
To quote the RCMP officer, “Drop the fucking knife!” And as he says this, he draws his weapon and points it at me. Having the police shoot you seems like a really good idea until they are actually there actually pointing a loaded handgun at your face. Then, in that moment a lot of things go through your mind. At least, they went through mine. Chiefly among them, was “Oh Fuck.” I dropped my knife, or as my friend describes, I threw it away like it was a hot potato.
The police not quite so politely, just like on COPS, instructed me to get on my knees and then to lie on my stomach. They then handcuffed and searched me, and put me in the back of the police car and I was driven to the hospital. I waited to see the doctor and then promising to come back first thing the next morning to talk to a mental health worker I was released back into the care of my friend.
I went back the next day and was referred to various mental health services. I have also started going to A.A. meetings, and due to a recent relapse at the time of this writing I have been sober for 1 day. I’m glad the officer didn’t shoot me, however I can’t at this juncture say that I am cured and will never do it again. Perhaps next time it wont be quite as scary to have that gun pointed at me.