I didn’t have time to kill myself

On the morning of Tuesday the 31st of June. I wanted to kill myself.

I would’ve killed myself. It was earlyish. Like 7.03am. Not that I was paying attention. I checked my phone.

Rolled over in my empty double bed and cried. Like the ugly cry that takes your face and turns it into a demon.

Then I was calm. I sniffled and for the first time in months my head was clear. As if someone had wiped the inside of my mind clean.

This clarity was beautiful. I understood why I had been given all these problems. I was being tested and as crazy as I sounds I laughed as I walked to my cupboard.

I unlocked it and pulled out my medicine box. Yes I have one. Currently out of plasters. But that is another problem. Back to this.

No one was up. The house was silent and cold. Like my soul.

*seriously I have a stupid sense of humour*

I sat on my bed and my bed did that stupid thing where it doesn’t sit level to the ground. Felt bad because my fat ass had probably just woken up my flat mate. I rummage through all my stuff.

Things for inflammatory, UTI’s, headaches, stomach ulcers , some deep heat. I poured all the pills out onto my bed and looked at my options. Which wasn’t a lot. I did math for the first time that week and it was not going to be enough. It wouldn’t kill me. I would just be sick with a sore tummy. I mean I aint no pharmacist or doctor but I do have a degree which means I have some logic and these pills were not going to do it.

I am not the type of suicidal person who can cut my wrist open. I don’t like pain. Ironic right. And I sure as hell cannot tie a knot to wrap around my neck. Brownies and Guides did nothing really expect teach me that their cookies are amazing.

So I got up. Replied to emails. Sent out one SOS texts.

I would’ve killed myself but

1. I didn’t have the ‘right’ pills

2. I didn’t have time.

Dressed, I left my house. Got a coffee and did #takeovertuesday for the University of Auckland NICAI instagram page. I just go on with the morning. I took a selfie that clearly shows massive bags under my eyes with a stupid smile on my face. FAKE AS FUCK BRO.

I got on the bus, walked to university where I proceeded to just get on with it. The point of this blog post isn’t the fact that I was going to kill myself, though it seems really scary. The point is I just switched brains. I went and did my day with only one soul knowing that I wanted to kill myself.

I gave a girl directions to Queen Street as it poured with rain, I wrote 1200 words, attened 2 rehearsals, posted 6 photos, drank 3 coffees, packed 4 bags and cried a bit more. I also wrote this post but you won’t be seeing it till much later because I don’t like when people coddle me. No thank you. Please.

So reading this know that I am alive. Busy. But alive.

Published by

serenpowelljones

A pretty sassy 23-year-old​ living in Auckland.

3 thoughts on “I didn’t have time to kill myself”

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