Wake me up when September ends

Several months ago, I published a story on my blog that I didn’t promote via Twitter or on Facebook. Very few people knew about the incident that I described. For some reason, sharing the story with strangers seemed so much easier than revealing the secret to people who know me.

I didn’t hide the story. In fact, I linked it with the Yeah Write Weekly Writing Challenge. It was chosen as an Editors’ Pick, voted into the Top Row 5, and, according to my stats, is the fifth most-viewed post on my blog. I’m planning a top ten list of posts as part of this countdown to my blog birthday. I was certainly going to include the link to this particular post, but I wasn’t going to draw any further attention to the content.

And then I read “Something about September” by The Bloggess, Jenny Lawson.

I have to agree with Jenny. There is something about this month that inspires melancholy. I just can’t get that Green Day song out of my head. I have no idea to what the lyricist is actually referring, but there is something about the month that makes me want to stay in bed until October. But since I know why I cannot be replaced, I wake up and keep on going. When I’m feeling down, I turn to my friends and family for support. I’m not afraid to get therapy or medication if I need it.

Other people struggle with this. That’s why, as part of Suicide Prevention Week, I’m sharing my story again.

“Everyone Poops” published April 9, 2013

“Look at this book we found,” Heather laughs. “Everyone Poops!”

We are both childless sophomores in college. The toilet-training sub-genre of children’s books is completely foreign to us. Heather brought the book to cheer me up, so I manage a smile despite the circumstances.

I’m glad that Heather and Matt have come to visit. Of course, they’re the only ones that know I’m here. I can hold the book now that they’ve removed the restraints. I was even allowed up to use the toilet before they arrive. I bet this book doesn’t mention what happens to poop after you’ve been given activated charcoal.

We flip through the book chuckling at the illustrations. It’s meant to help people talk about what comes naturally. We are using it to avoid talking about what happened.

I don’t remember if I started saving the pills before or after phoning Counseling Services and learning there was a waiting list. It seems everyone has problems.

I waited until Kristen had left our dorm room with her boyfriend. I filled a glass from the bathroom sink and began taking the pills. I’ve always hated swallowing medicine, so I had to use my trick: take a sip of water, tilt my jaw and bend my tongue so the water stays in my mouth when I slip in the pill. Push the pill back with my tongue and swallow. If the pill gets stuck, down it with extra gulps.

I tidied up my stuff, leaving the bottle on my dresser and laying down on my twin bed.  I really liked my roommate. I felt bad about how this might affect her, but not as bad as I felt about myself.

After laying there for almost an hour, I laughed at the irony.

It didn’t work.

I fail at everything.

I went to a recital. As a music major, I was required to attend a set number of performances every semester. So I walked across campus to the recital hall, grabbed a program and attendance form and took a seat.

I don’t remember who performed. All I can recall is the sensation of trying to keep my head on top of my shoulders. I knew I shouldn’t be falling asleep at a recital, but I was finding it hard to stay awake.

Then it was a blur. I remember people talking at me. I was in Heather’s dorm room. I was in the back of an ambulance. I was on my back in the ER, fluorescent lights blinding me, people in white coats asking me “What did you take? How much did you take?” I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I didn’t want to.

Then I was waking in a hospital room, strapped down to my bed.

When Heather and Matt had arrived, it was easier to look at pictures of animals relieving themselves than to face reality.

The reality is that everyone is muddling through.

Everyone makes mistakes.

Everyone cries.

Everyone hurts.

Everyone poops.

The best failure in my life will remain the one that let me survive to write about it. Thanks to that failure, I’m now looking forward to celebrating my son’s fifth birthday and the fourth anniversary of this blog.

Blogging For Suicide Prevention Badge


25 thoughts on “Wake me up when September ends

  1. I am very glad that you are here to share your story! My melancholy starts in around the end of September, it normally lasts until March.

    As I read the details of your story, they hauntingly took me back to my own. almost word for word, not at a recital, but in my own home. The ambulance, the the questions, the blur, the lights, and the charcoal. Goodness, the horrendous charcoal being released from my body.

    Thank you for sharing – you are brave and not only does your story help those who may be struggling now, but it helps remind people like me that we are not alone. Sometimes it is so very hard to remember that and I feel like I am the only one who has experienced this.


    1. I am so glad you commented. It felt like taking a plunge the first time I wrote this. I was afraid that people would judge me, doubt me, avoid me. I’m glad that reading this reminded you that you are not alone. I’m glad you are here to read my story.


  2. This is a tremendously brave post and I am sure that you have helped someone by sharing it. Sharing such personal things in a blog post is difficult, and I hope you feel that it helped yourself as well.


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