Medical sic hospital by: J.A. Burror

 I always felt different and didn't know why. You see I always felt that I was the outcast, nobody saw. I was 11 years old, yes when my feelings were becoming uncontrollable for me to happen. When I was 17 I was put in a Hospital to seek help. my mind was so twisted that in my head I thought I deserved it-all. I became crazy over killing myself . Why?, I really never dealt with stress/ pain for well growing up. Because of this I learned to put the wrong tools to lean on at use, when I needed a release.
 (Please know this is me writing of how I felt looking back, not how I feel to who I am today)

 It’s a game like ‘Life-Monopoly’ you chose, to never end the-bade ling with are self’s, is it wrong to ask who will win? With those odds it’s pretty good you would think a real no brainier. But with one chance to be happy, you lose-you lose your life. What’s the point to only live your life halfway, to never truly know or feel loved. What it’s like to be in love and live your dream. How about to feel your heart ripped out, and give up every time you might get there-make it out in the world. I always looked forward to death as a thank you gift. My way to thank everyone around me was not to have them put up with me no longer. I thought in my head, I mean I really believed there was no way out but to take my own life.

 Never mind the faith tells you if you commit suicide you’ll never live again. In heaven, on a paradise on earth, no you get nothing but the endless touchier from living in your own skin. Death was always a place to be, a peaceful new world. I just had to visit one day. A place to leave all your problems be hide and no one tries to hurt you any longer. To grow be on all the hater’s of this earth could have, for a deep sleep of heavenly dreams. Still I can't help but realize how selfish I was to try to leave before my time.

 Welcoming death can become a drug, it is inviting the idea of it is perfect. Why are so many terrified to close one chapter and open everyone’s destiny? I tried to kill myself with a boodle of Pill’s. I wanted peace, the pain within to somehow lessen. I cried a lot for reasons that were unknown to me tell now. You see I had so much pain inside that I didn’t want anyone to see let alone know about, it was my life. It happened to me not anyone but. I thought by holding everything inside that somehow I was saving myself more pain. That only if people knew-my family knew, that nobody would look at me same. I couldn’t be myself anymore, not realizing at that time I didn’t fully know who I was. Only what I so wanted to be and couldn’t. Nothing was worth it at this point in my life; I saw no reason to try for anything. Being happy or doing something, having something just because I dreamed for the longest time. It wasn’t my life it was untouchable to dream for better, anything different wasn’t my destiny just a nice fancy when your asleep. I mean I never really saw a real reason to live-there was no happily ever; no crystal ball that says life will get better.

 I tried to talk about it, unaware I had been leaving sign’s all threw my life time. Saying out loud and screaming, for someone to hear me. Stop what I yet couldn’t bring myself to speak of. Only dreaming of a different life and everything with it. I was a unhappy child sparked by a family secret. Wanting a different family wasn’t me really wanting one. But only I had come with terms of the one I had, understood reason’s that gave me more questions than answers. Family is family, we all know what a family is supposed to be and act like. Not all of us get that, I have a great family a hand full I share DNA with and a great number I don’t. But none of us will say we are not family. I know a lot of people find help and strength with talking over there problems on a couch. But I don’t because every time I had in the past, I always got unpleasant news. I was put in a medical sic hospital when I was 17, a month from 18 years old. I was there for 9 days only but they tried to keep me longer. My health insurance at the time wouldn’t cover it any longer.

 I remember the day before I went to the hospital; I was over at my friend Stacey’s house as I did every week almost. We worked for her Mother-cleaning apartments, but never got anything for doing he work. I was outside cleaning up a mess; someone had broken the plastic glass on a fire extinguisher box. I started to pick it all up and something came over me, not like I even thought about want I was doing. I just started to work a peace back and forth tell I saw real blood. You would think that would of stopped me but I kept doing it, trying to feel anything. It was as if my heart was cold because I was numb to the pain. Stacey saw my wrists and told me if I didn’t tell my parents she would. So I told them, wasn’t a big deal they knew I started trying when I was 11year’s old to kill myself. It was a family secret no one talked about. I went home with them that day and I was told the famous words “nobody has to know about this”. I called someone into my bedroom that night to talk to him; I was tired of feeling lost-not being able to find my shadow. He tried to say that we could talk the next day, but I didn’t know if I would have the guts to tell him anything the next day. I told him I didn’t want to be in the same religion as they were, that I wasn’t happy. I was told “Monday morning we’ll get you some help”.

 Now see it from my view for a moment. I would over dose on anything I got my hands on starting at 11years old and through the middle of my 18th year. I always got told: “you didn’t do it right”, “better try harder next time”, “do you really hate us that much”. Now on the chance you’re reading this and know someone in the situation I was in. Don’t make them feel like they have to try harder because you really don’t care. It makes the suicidal person aim higher, meaning more pills-other ways of killing themselves. Because in their mind why live in a world that hates you. And to finely get help, it was without cause in my book. Because if I really needed help wouldn’t I of had it by now, I thought. But at that state of mind your mind will play tricks on you, make believe the wrong thighs right.

  After a few days in the mental hospital having a sociological report example wrote down, I had had 2 mental brake down’s and by the way I was going I was going for my third. He told me I was addicted to committing suicide and that by the end of the week I was going to go home for the day only. Just to see if I could handle the in varmint I was living in. the moment I came in to the house I went to the bathroom to see if there were any pills, I could take. I was out of control when it came down to day to day living. I do believe my story’s have as much as most, not as much as some, and very few don’t have anything they can relate to with most of these story’s of the life I’ve had thus this far. I went back after I believe it was only about 3 to 5 hours I was outside the Sic Ward. When I got back I had talks with the group, Dr the next morning when I got up I was told by the Dr he wanted to put me in a foster home for a while. Mind you, I’m still not even a month from being 18 years old at this point. I knew if I was to go I’d have no place to live in a short time. I begged him to let me stay with my family, but I knew in the end he had the choice not me. On the last day, I heard the doctor tell my Father I still needed help to deal with my problems I had and that it wasn’t by choice I was leaving them. I saw a doctor on the outside and they both seemed the same not really asking but telling what I have or have had. As if, they know my heart and head as if it were there’s. I saw no brake threw if that’s what they wanted me to have, they failed. I did however get a lot of pills, funny your “addicted to killing yourself” so why not give that person stronger drug’s to do it. There is no logic in doping me up to fit some norm I’m supposed to be. I understand the whole it’s bad to kill yourself in part, but I don’t get why it’s perfectly alright to live a lie. Someone else dream of who you should be, or to never try to better yourself is out of my reason to understand. I finely stopped trying to end it all, not because the pills worked or the doctor was so great. The hospital didn’t scare me; I really wish it would of. I wasted a lot of time on my addiction. Yes, I do call it an Addiction; I got to the point I had to try to kill myself no less than 3 times a week. It was controlling my-everything; my world went around the next than to try. Horror movies were great; they give you so many ideals. I was in the late part of my 18th year when I realized if it hasn’t happen, yet-it wouldn’t happen by my hands.That is what started to change my thinking of  suicide and with it came the start of a reason I found to go on.