What It's Like When You Try to Die

Something happens. Or nothing happens. Perhaps you realize that he never loved you. Or you can’t possibly walk the halls of your school again. Or you refuse to listen to the screams anymore. Perhaps your sadness was something that had been swelling for years: you turned away in spite of it, but it grew nearer and nearer like waves approaching the shore. No matter what road you’ve traveled, you are here now. The thought has struck you suddenly, how unbearable it will be to face another day. You need help, but you don’t know how to ask for it. You cry and scream and the carpet snags underneath your fingernails as you fall. You need help so very badly. You find your way into the medicine cabinet, fumble your way to the aspirin, pop the cap. How many will kill you? Fifty sixty seventy eighty. How many will break you? Twenty thirty forty. You swallow big gulps, drink from the glass that has been sitting out since yesterday. You can’t breathe here, you can’t breathe on the floor.

In the hospital, your mother explains that you were confused, you didn’t mean to do it, and it’s almost funny how much work she’s done to convince herself of this. People move in and out, ask questions, take the blood from your body. You’ve lost everything else. A doctor gets close to your face and tells you that he knows it wasn’t a mistake, he knows what you did. He smells too clean and you never said it was a mistake. They give you a cup of charcoal to drink through a straw. This will save you. You are moved to the ICU for two nights because the levels of aspirin in your blood are still high. You drink charcoal again and again and you wear yellow socks. When you try to die, these socks mean that you’re not allowed to wear shoes. They mean that you are a suicide risk. You can’t be left alone, not that you’d get very far. You are tired. A nurse takes a blood sample every four hours. Another nurse puts a catheter in you. The aspirin level hasn’t gone down in the morning. It sinks in that you might actually die, now, in the ICU. In your yellow socks. A “sitter” stays in your room at all times, helps you to the bathroom and leaves the door cracked, just in case.

Finally, the aspirin in your system starts to disappear. The psychiatrist who will be treating you has not yet arrived in these two days. Is he busy? You watch television and sleep. Your mother never leaves your room. The psychiatrist comes. You explain to him that you didn’t want to die. You needed help, you called 911, you vomited into the sink. He tells you that this is what everyone says after they try to kill themselves. If you don’t willingly admit yourself to a mental institution, you will be forcefully admitted.

When you try to die, you spend six days in a mental hospital. You meet a woman named Storm with wild hair and wild scars. You meet people who are worse than you, you meet people who are better than you, you realize that it’s okay to be you. But what's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this? You can’t sleep at night because the nurses are laughing outside of your door. Instead, you walk the halls in your slippers. You make paper cranes in the TV room with a forty-year old depressive who never recovered from a motorcycle accident ten years ago. You listen to reruns of SVU on the TV. You sleep, you wake, you dream. And it’s strange how quickly you adapt to this new routine: taking the pills, talking to doctors, sitting through therapy. You are visited by friends who are afraid of what has happened to you. But when you try to die, you’re not afraid anymore. You’re not afraid of living or trying or failing. You return home and what you are afraid of, finally, is what you’ve faced and survived. You are afraid of death. You are afraid of the end. So you begin again.

Uncertain and Unconcerned: Life in Your Twenties

As a teenager, I had this idea that when I reached my twenties everything would suddenly make sense. Who I was and who I wanted to be would finally align. My life plans would gently click into place like a ridiculously simple 9-piece puzzle. And I would be happy, genuinely happy. I guess I can’t blame myself back then. I was something of a mess in high school and desperate for the hope that things would, some day, get better.

Needless to say, things haven’t worked out quite the way I imagined. I’m finding that my life is more like a 500-piece puzzle of the White Album, nothing fitting together and half of the pieces scattered in unknown locations. Of course, some things have fallen into place: I finished college, started grad school, and I have a job (though part-time) that I love. 

And though I’m nowhere near having it all figured out, I have learned some important lessons in my twenty-three years. This is what I know for certain:

• Cherish your friendships. Stay in touch with the people who matter. Some friendships are always easy. But sometimes, the longer you go without talking to someone, the harder it is to jump back into the comfort of your friendship. So make the phone call or send the e-mail or show up at someone’s door unexpected. You won’t regret putting in that effort.
•  Don’t waste your time on things that you don’t love. You’re young; you have plenty of time to be miserable further down the road. This is the time to figure out what makes you happier than anything else and pursue it with everything you’ve got.
• For every curveball life throws you, for every awful day, for every morning that makes getting out of bed seem absolutely impossible, you will also experience moments of overwhelming, sublime happiness. And the best part? You never know when these instances will arise: laughing at nothing with friends, jumping off of a roof into a pool, getting caught in the rain. Soak in this unexpected glory, because you’ll need to draw on these moments when the next curveball heads your way.
• Take risks. Take little risks and big risks. Ask your crush out, apply for the job that you’ll never in a million years get, go skydiving, get a tattoo, climb a tree, share something you’ve created. Don’t leave yourself looking back and wondering what could have been.
• You are stronger than you think you are. When you have no other choice, your mind and body will endure much more than you ever expected. And once you’ve experienced something truly harrowing, you’ll begin to understand the extent of your own strength.  

It’s funny how we always seem to believe that the future holds the answers. We tell ourselves that if we can just get through this week or this month or this year, things will get better. And sometimes that’s true. Sometimes things do improve after time. But the fact is that there is not a magical age at which we abruptly morph into whole, happy robots. And maybe that’s a good thing. Not knowing what to expect means that we can live lives full of surprises. We can find pieces of our puzzles unexpectedly, in songs and books, in conversations with strangers, in new discoveries and unfamiliar places.

So far, my twenties have been an amalgamation of the great and the not-so-great. I’ve fallen in love and had my heart unceremoniously smashed to pieces. I’ve clawed my way, very slowly, back from rock bottom. I’ve felt both irreparably broken and happiness to the point of effervescence. And I’m only twenty-three. I mean, what’s in store for me over the next seven years? I guess that’s the point I’m trying to make: we have no idea where we’ll be ten years from now or a week from now or even a few hours from now (what am I going to eat for dinner?!). We can’t expect to magically reach a place where things fall together. All we can do is buckle our seatbelts and raise our glasses because we’re looking at another 60 years of all-out confusion, frustration, exuberance, and at times, great joy. And I’ll cheers to that. 

Flashback Friday: Dress-Up

Am I the only 20-something who still owns a dress up box? Probably.

You never know when you might need to bust out old costumes.

 

The girls and me circa 2005

Happy Flashback Friday everyone!

Leading Off

Hello everyone! I figured that I would formally introduce myself so you know what you’re getting yourselves into. First of all, my name is Lindsay. I’m about to enter my third year (whoa) of college. I’m a Communications major and recently decided to minor in Theater.

To say that I am a sports fan is an understatement. I am completely and utterly invested in just about every sport I watch. That’s why I decided that the only career that would make sense for me was something involving sports. My ultimate dream is to have my own sports talk show one day.

The first game I ever fell in love with was baseball. I can’t point to a certain time when I remember watching my first game or learning my first rule. It’s been with me for as long as I can really remember. It all started with my best friend, my Paw Paw.

photo via mecookie

I loved spending any time I could with my Paw. Since he spent most of his time watching baseball, so did I. He was so excited to teach me everything he knew. He would tell me stories from when he was a kid which made me fall in love with the history of the game as well. We watched or listened to every single game together. For my entire childhood, the Detroit Tigers were a losing team. It was all I knew, yet there was nothing I loved more than watching them play.

When the Tigers made it to the World Series in 2006, it was one of the greatest memories I have ever had. After years and years of seeing them lose, I got to experience what it felt like to win - all with my Paw Paw sitting on the couch across from me. I can still remember his sweet smile when Magglio Ordonez hit that walk off home run in the bottom of the 9th inning.

Last year, my Paw Paw suffered from a collapsed lung. He was in the hospital for a few months and every time I visited, we watched the Tigers. He became progressively sicker and it was difficult for him to talk. The last conversation we had was about Jose Valverde.

A few days later, he was sent to hospice care. On June 11, I sat by his bed and held his hand. He wasn’t awake, but the doctor told us that he could still hear us. As usual, the Tigers game was on the television. I broadcasted the entire game to him. We watched it together just like we had for my entire life. That night, the Tigers won the game to take over first place in the American League Central. It was the last game I ever watched with him.

At 3:57 A.M. on June 12, 2011, my Paw Paw passed away. I didn’t know how I was ever going to be able to watch another Tigers game again. I associated it so much with him that it broke my heart to even think about it. Then I realized that the only thing that would make me feel better was watching baseball. When the Tigers beat the Yankees to advance to the ALCS, my phone rang, just like it did so often after a Tigers game, with my Paw Paw on the other line. Though it had been months since he died, when I heard the phone ring I immediately expected to hear his voice. The caller ID read “Unknown Number” with the phone number “000-000-0000”. It may sound silly, but I took it as a sign. My Paw Paw will always be watching baseball with me.

Sports have a way of bringing people together. Families, friends, and complete strangers enter a whole different universe when they’re supporting their favorite team. A team can lift the spirits of an entire state. Every sport is exciting and unpredictable in its own way and I’m constantly amazed at the ability of these athletes. Through the good, bad, and ugly, it’s always a joy for me to watch.

I’m so excited to begin writing for this site. I’ll be sharing my opinions, posting recaps, and giving you fun facts and information along the way. Here’s to another memorable year in sports!

Lessons Learned From Working With Kids

I may not be a parent, but unfortunately, I have plenty of experience with children. I've worked in the kids' birthday party business for over seven years in a special ring of hell called Pump It Up. Let me tell you now: kids are terrifying. I can't say why I've lasted so long working around these crazy little people and I don't know why I haven't gone crazy yet myself. It probably has to do with the perks of getting to play there whenever I want; moon bounces are awesome!

There are some ways to cope, however, when the little monsters get out of control. Here are some survival tips (parenting advice, if you will) that I've picked up over the years:

• Crying generally stops with a band-aid and/or ice pack, no matter what the problem is.
• Quarters will usually stop screaming tantrums (and also will get he/she to leave you alone while it plays crane machines and games).
• Children of all ages should wear diapers in public...no need for details here, you can use your imagination.
• Kids under the age of five should not be given expensive parties in loud places; they get scared and become hysterical (watching this happen gives some people the giggles, but parents may not appreciate the laughter).
• And lastly, for the same reason, small kids should not have characters at their parties. These crazy big-headed life-size cartoons are even frightening to grown-ups:

Keep these tips in mind if you are ever in a situation with anyone below the age of approximately 10. Then after you get rid of the little ones, come hang out at Pump It Up! The inflatable party zone is much more fun when no kids are around.