August 10. A new day.

A mess of pills and medications lay on the ground next to the car, wet, swimming in stomach bile and spit and tears. Most were still whole and intact, just a few were barely dissolved. There must have been 150 pills in that mess. Hundreds more lay in the seat next to me. I leaned over the lethal soup, sobbing. Spit hung from my lips as endless tears fell from my eyes onto the ground. I sat there alone, leaning out my car door for a while, retching and crying and hurting.
1:03pm. August 10, 2006. The day I failed at killing myself.

The day had started like most other days. I got up and got ready for work. Things had been very rocky at home with my spouse the past several months due to decisions made and actions I had taken that greatly hurt her. We had been living as roommates in different areas of our house, each of us waiting for something to get better, for things to be fixed magically. All the while, her resentment and disappointment in me grew, and my anger and frustration growing at not being to fix this obstacle that had grown between us. On this day, fed up with my pleading and lies and me in general, my wife devasted me with the words I had never wanted to hear- "I think I want a divorce".
With those six words, my entire world was gone. I knew things were not good, and I think I knew at some level this would happen. But to hear the words coming from the person I loved most in this world, the person I had choosen to spend my life with and raise a family with, the person I promised to put first always, this ruined me. As a child who grew up in less than ideal circumstances and situations, a stable and secure family was the most important thing I ever wanted. I had vowed each of my kids on their birth night to provide them the life I did'nt get growing up, that their mother and I would not fail them. I had promised their mother that I would be there for her always, that we would go on this adult adventure together. I had promised myself I would be a good dad and husband, and have a strong family. In those 6 words, all my promises and vows were gone. I had failed, and I could blame nobody but myself. My heart was broken, my very being was shattered.
I went into work, with those words running through my head. I couldnt concentrate. I spent alot of time in the employee restroom crying uncontrollably. I couldnt function even somewhat normally. My heart was racing, my head pounding. I almost could feel myself shutting down inside, I truly felt I was dieing. And then, I decided thats what I needed to do.
I remember the thought clearly, just as I did when it hit me. A dead parent was better than a divorced parent. My mind was convinced this was best. I had failed my family, I had failed myself, there was no way I could recover from this, and I didnt want to face them or myself anymore. I told my boss what I had been told that morning, and that I just needed to go home for the day. And I left.
I went to my dream house that we had bought and remodeled and loved for our family. I wrote a letter to my wife with my final wishes. I gathered up every medication in the house that I could find and put all the bottles and boxes into a mesh tote bag, along with 2 bottles of water. I fed the cats, got in my car, and drove away.
I remember driving with no destination in mind, just thinking I had to find a place to die that I would be found easily, and not by a child. I drove and drove, tears running down my face, snot falling into my lap as my mind justified what I was about to do, and at the same time, my mind was distancing itself from those I loved. My family became just people. My friends were just faces. I was thinking they all would be better off without me, the failure, in their lives. I finally found a place to park my car, a place I had spent time as a child and was happy. I would be found within hours I was certain, thus releiving my family of the pain of not knowing what had REALLY happened to me.
I sat in the drivers seat of the car and opened all the medications, and made a pile of them in the seat next to me. I put the vicodan I had left over from oral surgery on top as I thought they should hit my stomach first, and the quantity should definatly pave the way for the other medication to poison me quickly. The water bottle open, I began swallowing pills as fast as I could.
The entire time I was shoveling pills into my mouth, I thought of my kids. People say as they die their life flashes in front of them. Mine didnt. Pictures of my kids did. I was doing the best thing for them I could. Sure, they would be sad at first, but their sadness at losing me would pass once I was not around to see everyday. Their pain at having to see me daily if I was still around would be worse. They could have been in that car with me that day fighting me and I still would have found a way to swallow those medications. I was determined to be done hurting.
Swallowing mouthfull after mouthful of pills, crying, seeing my kids, hearing those 6words. Even now, 4 years later, I can still find myself back in that horrible place within myself.
And then I tried to take too many pills in one shot and gagged. That final batch of pills hit the floorboards. I opened the car door as I retched again, and I began losing the medicinal lunch I had just consumed. Over and over again my stomach clenched as I lost its contents. I have no idea how idea how many times I hurled pills and stomach bile onto the ground next my car before I stopped. My throat was raw, I was shaking, my stomach hurt, my eyes were finally dry. And I was still alive. I immediatly grabbed more pills and popped them into my mouth, but I gagged as soon as I took a drink of water and spit them out. My throat was so sore and swollen from the initial swallow and purge I could not physically take anymore in. I sat in my car, alone, and hit the steering wheel over and over again. Yelling and crying and cursing. It was 1:03pm, and I couldnt even die right. I had failed at killing myself.
I drove away from that mess on the ground in the happy place of my childhood, and spent the rest of the day driving around, trying to figure out what to do. I still was set on not living this agony anymore. I fully intended on being dead. A few hours later, I found a place I could drive my car off the road, insuring my death. But this place I was not sure I would be found. That was not acceptable. I parked my car in a park, and once again attempted to swallow pills. Still, my body would not accept them and I once again choked as soon as they got to my throat.
At this same time, unknown to me, I was being looked for by friends and police officers. I found out later that my car description was all over the radio, and dozens of people were on the roads looking for it, and me. Determined to see this through, I parked my car at a school, and for the third time, tried to take pills. This time I took one at a time, and in this way I was able to swallow them. I knew this time it would work, and I remember feeling relieved my pain would be gone soon. On the fourth pill, a knock on my window stopped me. In that dark parking lot, alone with my water bottle and pills and horribly sad and confused mind, I was found. And I was wasn't dead.

The sad mind I'm convinced is not reachable. I dont use the word depressed, because I wasnt. That came later. I was simply sad, and unfixable. I was a broken shell, unrepairable. My living as a failure would prolong my childrens anguish, my wife's unhappiness, my own misery. If I was gone, everybody would heal and move on, rather than just cope and exist. And I would not have to face myself any longer. Yes, I was sad, and yet, I was still alive. But I discovered in the weeks that followed what I now call my breakdown and also my wake up, I found a new way of thinking. Though I was still living the same rocky circumstances in my home, divorce had not been mentioned again. Things were not good, but back to status quo. In this, I realized I was not dead for a reason. My kids DID need me. My friends were there for me, they DID need me too. I was still a failure and ruined the best thing in my life, but I had the opportunity to rebuild and start over. I found a suicide survivors support group and spoke a few times with those family members and friends that were left devasted behind after their loved ones took thier own life. I did what I could to reassure them that it was not in their control, they could not have stopped it. The truly sad mind is more determined than anyone realizes, especially if it has not been experienced first hand. The mindset is not right, and definatly not logical. This I see with the benefit of hindsight and alot of counseling and self exploring. Those people I talked to all had one thing in common, they were hurt and angry at thier loved one. I told them to let the anger go, it does no good to hold onto it, and the person who took their life, TRULY thought at the time it was the best thing to do. I likened it to a person set on going to college and becoming a teacher. NOTHING will stop them if thats truly what they want to do, and in their mind, they are supposed to do it. Nothing else matters or counts. Four years later, I am no longer sad and sucicidal, but I still understand my thoughts and mindset at the time, and I can completley sympathsize with those in the sad frame of mind. I dont blame them at all, nor do I condemn them for taking the actions they may take. In the sad mind, removing yourself from the picture is the best option.
As for me now, things are good. 4 years, therapy, new chances, and lots of self reflection have been good. Yes, every single day I still recognize the fact I failed my family and myself, this will never change. But I'm glad for the chance to do what I can to make amends and make this better. And in this process, I am trying to better myself.
1:03 pm. August 10, 2006. The day I beat death.