"A semicolon is used when an author could've ended their sentence, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life."- The Semicolon Project

Today is International Semicolon Day, which hits different when you have one tattooed on your wrist and a date burned into your brain. November 19th, 2015 is the day I swallowed a fistful of Xanax because I "Just needed to sleep." A few days later, I wrote about it from the psych ward with a ballpoint pen and a paper cup of hospital coffee. Instead of trying to rewrite history I am going to let that version of me talk, and then I'm going to answer her from here. The following is exactly what I wrote, including the clipart I used.

Publish Date November 25, 2015 6:06PM - Original Semi-Finished Blog

To understand this post, know that the following was written in the past. Friday 20th between 11:00pm-3:00am...with a pen and paper because I did not access to any type or electronic device. I transferred it to this blog when I finally could to tell my experience and explain my absence. 

This is the absolute hardest post that I have ever made, even harder than my first one coming out about my mental illness. I also think it is the most important one to talk about I have shared my dark and bright times even if it seemed impossible to get the words out through the keyboard. It is hard because I am writing this from 5west at University Community Hospital in the "day room" looking out the window at Syracuse on top of Onondaga Hill where I am staying in room 516 Bed 1.  

I attempted to take my life by swallowing a bunch of Xanax this past Thursday evening...unsuccessfully. At least that is what I am told. All I wanted to do was go to sleep, not forever but longer than the couple of hours I have been sleeping in the past year.

First, in order to tell what happened to me on November 19th, 2015 I have to start at the beginning of my day. It has taken me all day to piece this together and I am sitting here writing this with a headache from crying in secret without anyone seeing me because they might keep me here longer if they do.

I woke-up early so I could get ready to go to the doctors for a med check with my doctor

at the Synergy Center.A quick shower and we all got dressed and went off. Jack's eye was still swollen shut from the night before when he had some type of reaction that sent us to the hospital. The med check went well and she finally gave me a script for Ambian to actually help me sleep. We left and stopped at Dunkin Donuts for coffee before I took Eric to work.

We dropped Eric off at work. Jack realized his lego guy was still in Dad's pocket and was upset to say the least. We decided to stop at Walmart and get him a new one since he was upset, after all they were only a couple dollars. When we got there they were nowhere to be found and Jack flipped a script. Great! Strike one! Kinney's was the next stop. They had Simpson lego figures! Yes! But he wanted a monster lego instead. While there I decided to pick-up a few things for lunch. Most of what I found was on sale. I get to the counter and don't have my employee discount card. Damn it! I looked through the van and could not find it. I remembered that Eric had it in his pocket from the night before. Strike two! Jack objected plan to come back so we just left. I wasn't going to pay full price when I had a sweet deal with the card. I start to get frantic upon walking into the house. I give Jack his meds upstairs because they were there from the night before.

At this point I lost track of time. I looked around and was overwhelmed at the insane mess my home had become. EVERY ROOM looked like cops did a shakedown of a cell in a prison looking for contraband. I went upstairs and started shoving things under the bed and in bags to get it out of my sight. I didn't care as long as it was gone. I yelled down

the stairs and told the girls to turn the TV off and start cleaning the front room because it was the worst. I didn't care where they put it just clean it up! Meanwhile, I swept the floor in my room and threw all the laundry into a pile. I cleared the bed and made it carefully. Fluffed my pillows and filled my water bottle up. Grace, Lizzie and Jack all came-up and told me they picked-up the front room a bit and Jack wanted to cuddle. We cuddled for a couple minutes. I told them I loved them and I was going to take a nap because I was very tired from not sleeping the night before. I sat down on the bed and started too take one Xanax 0.5mg after another. The first and second didn't work so I took another and another until when I laid down on the bed neatly on my back. While popping one pill after another I was texting with a friend. I told him "I don't want to deal with this anymore" and said "fuck this!". He said "don't give-up" and my response was "nope, I just need to sleep...a lot!" followed by a <3. I didn't expect a fast response as my friend has much he is taking care of right now and it wasn't his fault. I am talking to you my friend....it was not your fault! I already took the pills and I started to feel drowsy so I locked my phone and put it down. I was looking out the window at the trees that I knew all too well swaying in the breeze as I started to fade. It was the last thing I remember.

From here on out I am going by what others told me happened as I have no memory of 95% of it. Tiny snip-its are all I remember.

Grace came-up to wake me because Jack was crying for me. She could not wake me up. She waited a bit then called Eric. He came home and said I was making no sense and slurring my words together not giving him a clear answer as to how many I took. He did not know what to do so he called my friend Tara from Stand Against Suicide and she called another friend Dory to come and help me. She drove me to Upstate Community Hospital's emergency room and Eric followed after making sure the children were taken care of with friends. I as taken back all the while not making sense. They put an IV in, drew blood and did an EKG. I later found out my potassium levels were so low my heart could have stopped beating. I was starting to shutdown and they were worried I would stop breathing. I keep telling Eric I just wanted to end it all. I guess they stabilized me enough to transport me to 5 West...the adult psychiatric ward. Before they took me upstairs I saw the sheet that had the names of people you authorized to know you were there, I put Eric and then my friends name. Why did I put his name, I have no idea but that I felt I trusted him, he would know exactly what I was going through and my subconscious thought it was a good idea. They shooed Eric away and he told me I said to not comeback without my friend, tell him I was here! I also told him that I hated him and punched him and asked him why he would leave me in this place with all these crazy people because I am not crazy! I was involuntarily committed to this place.

I woke-up the next morning not knowing where I was or why I was there. I felt like a truck hit me so I did an inventory of my limbs and head and such. All intact. I looked at the crook of my arm and there was a cottonball with tape over it, I knew then where I was. I saw a change of clothes and my glasses on the desk in this room. I put them my glasses on and needed to get dressed and get the hell out of here as soon as possible. I took a shower but discovered I had no comb or brush so I didn't wash my hair. When I took my clothes off I had a bunch of those sticky EKG things stuck to me so I peeled them off. What the hell happened to me? I finished and got dressed. I sat on my bed and cried. What had I done? What happened to me? What day was it? Where was I? Who were all these people talking so loud? I walked out in what I figured was the common room. I thought I saw a guy playing dice and saying how he should have brought more money, was he playing with someone I am not sure. A couple people were just staring out the window like they were looking for the blue bird of happiness in that movie KPAX (one of my favorites oddly enough). One even looked like the big guy from the show lost, I later found out his name was Nick and he was a gentle giant with funny stories and liked video games like me. All I really knew was I didn't belong here and I didn't want to know there names or stories that I just wanted to go home! I wasn't crazy and I still believe I am not! I just wanted to fucking sleep, what was so bad about this? 

I had a meeting later on that day with a doctor, case worker, my nurse and some other guy I didn't remember what he was. They asked me a bunch of questions and asked me about my history mental health wise. They said they wanted to add Depakot to enhance the mood stabilizer I was already on and told me I had to stay the minimum of 72 hours. 72 HOURS!! Bullshit I was! I repeated over and over again that I wasn't trying to kill myself that I just wanted to sleep! If I wanted to take myself I would have chucked the whole bottle down in one gulp. They told me I could have a hearing within 72 hours and I had to put it in writing which I immediately did. I knew this letter wasn't going to be worth even the paper it was written on. I went into my room mad as hell and cried like I never did before. I crawled into a ball and cried on the floor against the wall. One of the other

patients talked to me out in the hall after I calmed down a bit. His name was Marcus. He said if I stayed calm, ate my food, took my meds and went to group meetings, I would get out sooner. Screaming and crying would do nothing but keep me here longer. After thinking long and hard I ate the tray of food they brought in for me and came out during craft time. I felt like a 5-year old with construction paper, crayons and safety scissors. The first and only thing I thought to make was a birthday card for my Gracie. I was going to miss a huge milestone that will never be repeated; her 10th birthday. Single digits to double digits. A decade ago I became a Mother in a hospital and I decade later here I was in another because I was a moron. I was missing my firstborn child that I held in my arms for the first time on that snowy morning on November 22nd, 2005. A little baby girl that I have watched grow-up into a young lady who can fit into my shirts and shoes...I wasn't going to be there. I can never go back and get a redo of this day. Never. I tried eating dinner but I was not hungry. My stomach was churning like a upset sea in a storm. I found a magazine that I took back to my room and attempted to read. Eric called and said Dory and Tara wanted to visit. Or course I wanted them to! Tara posted about my attempt but didn't say my name. She showed me all the out pouring of love from everyone in SAS and beyond. People I didn't even know me where praying and wishing me okay. Tara asked if she could say it was me. I said yes. I have not kept secrets about my journey thus far and I wasn't going to start now so far into it. She said others might possibly want to visit and I jumped at it with a YES! Anything to make this nightmare more bearable and human. Eric came in before Dory and Tara said bye. He brought me some comforts from home and stayed for a bit before he had to leave me. I finally could have my belongings after they went through them and cataloged it. I brushed my hair with my brush and put my recently  cut short hair back. I took my things out and and folded my clothes. I paused with my favorite red sweater I requested him to bring.I stopped and held it close to me like a child holds a teddy bear and breathed it in; it smelled like home. It smelled like the bedroom where I left it. It smelled like our sweet detergent I use. I could smell my children and husband. I held it close to me and wept, breathing it in till I couldn't smell anything but the dry sterile air of my room. I folded it up and put it in a drawer. I went out to the common room after trying to read the book Eric brought me to try and pass the time by quicker. I kept reading the same sentence over and over again. I went over to the window that had a strong metal grate and saw the twinkling lights of Syracuse in the distance, one of them was my home. My home where my husband slept alone in a big chilly house. My home where I could kiss my children goodnight and cuddle up with my Jack. My home where our bedroom light was off and could rest it's bulb because I was not there to

be afraid to turn it off. My home. My heart. My world. I have been sitting here at 1:30am in the empty common room writing on computer paper with a borrowed pen I cannot take to my room because I might stab myself. SMH. In a corner of this empty room at a table by myself and I have never felt so alone in this world. This made me think and realize...I did try and commit suicide after all. Taking pills would just make me close my eyes and never open them again. No pain. No blood. No letter saying good-bye again like the last time. Just me and then nothing. Nothing....

This is me talking today November 25th talking now. I am of some sound mind and can see clearer of what happened and why. I will never forget what happened. I met people who I will never forget. Some just in for a short time, others with things that are so deep they may not ever get out of institutions. We had late night small groups that were more therapeutic then a therapist on the outside. We gave insight into what we have been through and how to change it for a better future. After getting my medication change I felt better than I have felt in a very long time. I was finally sleeping and it felt amazing! I felt well. I felt alive. Eric stood by me the whole time and took care of everything at home while I was in there. I feel like the luckiest person in the world for being alive. I just saw the most beautiful sunset pulling into my Mom's house for Thanksgiving and I wish I would have taken a picture. Sunsets and sunrises are my favorite thing to witness, they are beautiful. For such a longtime I saw the world in black and white, now I see it in dazzling colors of the rainbow. I feel so full of life again and glad I get to see the artistry that is this life. I am saddened that I could have forfeit everything for nothingness.  

PRESENT DAY

This is me again, but now it's April 16, 2026. It's been 10 years, 4 months, and 28 days since that day that changed my life. I am 46-years old. My kids are teenagers and twenty. I work a remote job I am good at from my living room. I make art still. I write. I have a tiny semicolon on my wirst that I got before this particular attempt, back when I thought I already understood what it meant to stay. I thought I had learned the lesson. Then November 19th happened and showed me there was a whole other layer.

When I read what I wrote from 5 West at Upstate Community General Hospital, I want to hug that woman and shake her a little. She is so sure she "Just wanted to sleep.". She is so adamant she doesn't belong with "the crazy people." She is bargaining with the universe, with the doctors, with herself. The truth is, I did try to die that afternoon. I chose pills because I thought it would be quiet and I wouldn't have to write another goodbye letter. I thought I was erasing myself from the story.

My semicolon tattoo

What I see now is that even with a semicolon already on my skin, I had not magically graduated from wanting out. A tattoo is not a force field. It didn't stop me brain from reaching for the same old escape hatch when I was exhausted and scared and standing in a house that looked like a crime scene of toys and laundry and medical bills. That afternoon, my wrist already carried a promise I didn't know how to keep yet. So my body did what it had practiced: numb out, tap out, disappear.

My semicolon was ink-deep, not bone-deep. World Semicolon Day, all these years later, is about the gap between those two things for me. The semicolon on my wrist is not a cute symbolism. It's potassium levels so low my heart could have stopped. It's my kids cleaning the living room while I lined up pills. It's missing Grace's 10th birthday because I was on 5 West trying to convince everyone I was fine. It's a red sweater that smelled like home and made me sob in a fluorescent room. But it is also the fact that I did not get my way that night.

I woke-up to psych nurses and group therapy and Depakote and a roommate and a view of Syracuse from behind metal grates. I woke-up to people whose names I still remember and think about often. I woke-up to a life that, at the time, I honestly didn't believe could feel different than it did in the past.

And then, very slowly it did.

Since that night, I have survived more grief, more losses, more identity collapses than 2015 me could have ever imagined. I've been laid off. I've lived through my marriage imploding and had my heart being broken multiple times. I've watched people I love die. I've stood in more messy rooms and more messy seasons. I've also watched my kids grown into ridiculously brilliant humans with the most amazing hearts and lives. I've fallen in love again in ways that actually feel safe. I've started writing the stories I used to only carry in my head. I've stood in my kitchen stirring chili and realized, "This! This is what I would have missed!".

The loves of my life! Jack, Grace and LIzzie

The difference now is not that I never think about escape. The difference is that my semicolon has moved from ink into how I LIVE. It's in the way I reach out when my brain starts whispering old lies. It's in the way I let myself rest before I am at the edge of myself. It's in the way I tell the truth about my brain instead of hiding it behind jokes and "I'm fine".

The semicolon on my wrist is not a guarantee that I'll never struggle again. It's a reminder that my story is allowed to have commas and run-on sentences and plot twists and whole chapters I wish I could edit. It's proof that even when I was absolutely certain there was no way through, there was still a tiny hook on the end of the line that kept me here.

If you're reading this and you have your own November 19th, your own hospital bracelet, your own red sweater you cried into, you are not a failure for still being here. You are a sentence that did not end when you thought it had to.

Today, on World Semicolon Day, I am choosing another pause. Not a period.

I am still writing!