Stop Laughing.

After the attempt there was the mandatory 72 hour watch of being on lockdown in the hospital. It's good I was there. I still wanted to die. I found a drawstring on my basketball shorts. I was in the shower area. I tried to form a noose type thing. That rope was so weak and there was nothing to jump off of and really it was too much effort to try and figure out how to end things, how to escape the pain of the reality I abhorred. So I went back to napping. A conversation with my psychologist who had been meeting with me at the time actually helped wake me up.

He actually came to the hospital and visited - he's the only doc to ever do that. It said a lot. He asked how I was doing. I made small talk. I made jokes. I was always trying to see the funny part of life, find the joy, laugh at the bad...there was so much bad. And he stopped me. He stared me dead in the face and asked why I was laughing. I said because I said something funny. He told me none of it was funny. I had just tried to kill myself, to end my life, I was in a hospital, and it wasn't funny.

This truth struck deep. It woke something up in the recesses of my sadness. It was like a voice communicating with a dying part of my soul and telling it that it matter what I did, thought and said. While I was still in the hospital, my meds were adjusted. My leg shakes stopped. Something was changing just a tiny bit.

I am so grateful that the psychologist confronted me, spoke truth, and told me death wasn't funny.