TINY SPARKS

Trigger Warning: Author mentions Ativan and highlights a suicide attempt.

The sound of the movie played boisterously in the background. I heard Gandalf the Grey bellow “fly you fools!” as I glanced at the bottle of Ativan in my hand. Just earlier, my husband and I were enjoying the familiarity of a Lord of the Rings marathon – a common occurrence in our household.

I circled back to what made it come to this. What made me feel so overwhelmed that I wanted to end my own suffering? It was the lack of medication in my system. You see, I had to take my medication twice a day, every day – five of them. It had been at least fourteen days, at the minimum, since I had last taken any of them. I’ve been there before, but never like this.

While the Ativan was tight in my grasp, I tried to think back on my family – my beautiful daughter laying in her room, simply clueless as to what was going on, and my husband, sound asleep right next to me, unaware. The small, circular, white tablets looked ever so captivating, calling my name. It’s like they knew by biggest insecurities, fears, and traumas, prompting me to wrap myself in their embrace.

I would like to think that focusing on my daughter would have helped me, but all I could fixate on is how bad of a mother I was – how she and my husband would be better off without me. No one would notice if I just disappeared. That’s when I did it. I poured out the leftover prescription in my hand, staring at the eight white tablets, crying silently so I wouldn’t wake anyone. It felt as if the weight of the world was pushing me deeper into the mattress, further into a desperation that I was consumed by.

No one will care. Everyone’s lives would be easier. It’s okay to give up now. That’s when I did it. “I’m sorry, baby. Mama loves you. I hope you can forgive me,” I silently whispered underneath it all. I grabbed my Seagram’s ginger ale, and after placing the Ativan in my mouth, I felt the sensation of tiny sparks making their way through my throat to my chest. That’s when it hit me. Shit. What did I just do!?

I turned to my husband, fighting hard to wake him up while my breathing was becoming more and more erratic, I was panicking. “Wake up! Honey, wake up! I just made a big mistake!”

After what felt like hours of crying, which ultimately happened within a twenty-minute period, we made necessary arrangements for our daughter and went to the hospital. The last thing about being home that I remember was calming her down before we left. “I love you, Sophia.” I cried. “Mama will be back when she feels better, okay?”

Due to the effects of the medication, I was in a dazed state of mind. Conscious, but not fully coherent. I cannot recall the conversations I had with the staff at the hospital. One second, I opened my eyes to see my husband there, the next I woke up and the AmeriMed EMT’s were waiting to take me to the psychiatric hospital. What felt like minutes had happened in the span of over six hours.

I spent nine days at Greenleaf. The first three went like how the six hours went at the hospital. Sleeping and not participating in group activities. But despite all of that, I took my medication as prescribed, ultimately helping tremendously.

Once the fog lifted, I was able to navigate life in the hospital by doing whatever was necessary; like working on my trauma through the Shadow Work Journal, reading my favorite poetry book Daring to Take Up Space, coloring and reading a new book I picked up shortly before the incident, Binding 13. All of that, coupled with the fact that I made some memorable friends and had the support from my family, helped me get to the point where I was safe enough to return home.

It’s been almost five months since that disastrous night. And here I am, thriving. In school full-time, with a beautiful family cheering me on, taking my medication as prescribed, going to therapy as scheduled. Life is a beautiful thing, and I am so happy I got a second chance at living it. There is always hope.

Amanda Morrison is passionate about writing fantasy, contemporary romance and fiction stories, highlighting interpersonal struggles throughout. She found her love of storytelling through watching and reading The Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, Game of Thrones and the Witcher series. She is a spouse to an airman in the USAF currently residing in Valdosta, Georgia, Morrison is an avid watcher of Shark Week - mainly because she wants to be prepared should she ever come face-to-face with a shark.