What does life mean to me?
Life is a non-stop train that moves without being late, because it is controlled by the dimension of time. Every once in a while, on each stop, people leave and enter life. No one is made to stay in life, for as everyone has their own stop.
We are all in this train for a certain amount of time and we will leave, whenever our time is written to be over. As humans we have the option to decide a lot for us, such as ending our lives, which would be jumping out of that train, not waiting for our stop.
This was me a week ago, on a Monday evening after college, I went to a small fast food restaurant where I went to take the keys from my mother, who was enjoying her time with her friend, her friend’s children and my little siblings. I smiled at her as I entered the restaurant and like always, I could pretend to be the happiest person among others.
I know how I make others laugh, and I enjoy watching them happy. I do not want them to worry; if they worry I will be more upset. I walked my way back home, slowly, thinking of nothing but darkness. With my numb fingers I unlocked my house door, taking off my green coat, and sat down on our couch.
I called my sister telling her I could not take it anymore and I was determined to end it. I tried saying my final goodbyes and I was drowned in my own shame and sadness, as I walked to the under stairs storage room and opened the door. I looked at the medicine that was lying there and slowly took out the paracetamol and ibrufen.
I stared at them for a long while, before I started taking them. One by one, and then five at once, then ten at once, and all that I had left. I felt that it was not enough, and took even more and I crossed the toxic amount limit.
I was feeling completely fine, unless I started to walk weakly, due to my blurry view. I felt sick and I started to shiver a little. My mother called me straight after, asking me if I was okay, since my sister told her I was not well. I didn’t say anything to her, for as she could not understand my pain.
I didn’t want to be saved.
She came home moments later, and my condition was getting worse. My mother is a lovely and intelligent woman, but little did she know about the big sin I committed. She started to have arguments with me, whereas I could not talk much, I just sat there and was talking a little. I decided not to tell her.
After she left the room I told a friend of mine, who immediately quit the things he was doing, and he told me things of which half I cannot remember now due to my condition, where I was having a bad headache and nausea.
I asked him “Is this how death feels like?” as I closed my eyes and was lying on my bed. He told me to inform my sister, who came home, or anyone that was near me. He told me to scream, he told me to ask for help. I asked him what would I even tell them?
“Tell them you’re dying, Sidrah” he replied.
These words are marked in my head as if they are the memory I’ll keep in me forever and I remember that when he said it, I shed a tear. The tear went down on my hot cheeks.
I was having hot and cold showers in me and my sister came in to ask me what happened. I stayed quiet and let her speak for a long while, when I suddenly just bursted in to tears and with trembling I whispered to call for help.
My experience of the hospital I will share later, since I had two days to stay there and had enough time to write.
Two days later, I walked down slowly on the same road and opened the door with my housekeys. I was all by myself again and I took off my jacket and sat down on the exact same place where I took the pills two days ago.
I stared in to the deep nothing, where I could see nothing.
It’s true. Time will pass, life goes ahead.
Another failed try.