[bipolar disorder] 1 year since first suicide attempt

 (This article contains a record of one year of depression, 

from the first suicide attempt in 2015 to 2016.)

'Why do I have to be alive'

.

.

.

<Second suicide attempt the day after going to the emergency room>

Instead of going to my family's house, I went to a friend's house for a while. 

Because you can be more comfortable.

While my friend went to work, I went out to buy a drink like a zombie.

I bought an alcoholic drink and went into the shower and turned on the water in the shower. clothes were getting wet.

I sat down and had an alcoholic drink. Then I smashed the bottle on the floor andslit one's wrist with the broken glass bottle. Blood continued to flow through the shower water.

It was my second suicide attempt.

<Leaving with a letter of resignation_I am a sinner>

After 4 days of absenteeism, I went to work to finish my resignation.

My head was throbbing because I had hit my head with an alcohol bottle, and the scars on my face were clearly visible.

A senior of the same age as me coldly and resolutely told me to write a resignation letter and go. Since her wedding was only a few days away, her reaction was quite natural.

I continued to tell her she was sorry and left her office.

All the hospital staff gave their concerns and comfort, saying that I did not expect such depression because I usually acted with a bright expression.

'Why did I do that...'

I hated myself so much.

<The effort of those who try to stop breathing and those who do not want to stop>

I quit my job and tried countless times for several months to die. 

The dark thoughts went on endlessly, and the darkness got used to it.

crouching in the corner room

"Why am I here alone, I don't want to do anything, I don't want to live" 

I drank wine and soju every night.

Then the hallucinations started appearing as if there was something in the room, which increased the fear, and the panic disorder suddenly made it impossible to breathe.

Swallowing several weeks of medication at once, sitting by the window on the 12th floor where I live, or hanging by the neck, injured my wrist endlessly.

Each time, a friend who was at work ran to rescue me, and whenever I couldn't reach him, he ran home unconditionally.

When I couldn't breathe due to panic disorder, he gave me a plastic bag to breathe in and took me everywhere to get out of the dark.

Little by little, with the care of a friend and treatment at the hospital, I got better. Although it was short, I made money with a part-time job.

It was difficult to take psychiatric medication regularly, so I took it intermittently, but I was relieved that my condition improved from last year.

Around that time, I broke up with my boyfriend. 

And two shocking events happened to me.