Tegan Fournier
May 12, 1986 this day was never planned, I was an accident. But here I am in Sedona, Arizona of all places. Arizona might seem like a great place to live, but for the last three nights I’ve been contemplating ways that I could potentially end my misery for good.
I felt so lost in my own head that I didn’t even know what reality was anymore. This isn’t a recent thing it has been eating me away for years. The loneliness the anger, the bitterness that I feel towards people who I trusted, that have come in and out of my life. I used to be able to control these feeling but I’m finding it now hard to control my thoughts.
Today’s another two-hour session with Dr. Drew, whoop de fucking dew. Nancy my mother insists I come and talk to the moron, who prescribes himself depression medicine; when I reply to his questions, he always answers with “and how does that make you feel?” Sometimes I ask myself if he really wants to know how I feel, or if that’s what they taught him in school to “make the big bucks”. I feel bad for these vulnerable, suicidal people who come in here and think this is really going to save their lives.
I am a very sociable person; don’t get me wrong. My mental health is in no way because of my peers or any certain obstacles I’ve feared of over coming, in all reality it was because I lost the only person that made me feel needed or important in the world besides my girlfriend.
Aaron Michael Schultz, age 17. Died Sunday morning, at 10:04 A.M. D.O.B. April, 22, 1992. Although the hospital rep wouldn’t confirm Aaron’s cause of death, the TMZ, reports that the team suffered overdosed of sleeping medication.
Even before this article was written, I was diagnosed as clinically depressed and had also bipolar type 2, but at that time I had Aaron. Aaron wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. He cared more about my life than anyone ever has; he guided me the right way. Aaron encouraged my dreams; he and I valued many aspects of life in the same way. Aaron was a little shorter than me, so that put him at about 5”10, he had straight brown hair, green eyes and tattoos all over. His tattoos always intrigued me, although I could never envision myself getting a tattoo.
The cold sweats, the nightmares, and loss of sleep continue. Soon enough my eyes caved in, the color around my eyes decreased. I began to feel weak, unstable. I slept for days and days and couldn’t muster up enough strength to even force myself to eat the slightest bit of food. I did not purposely deprive myself of these things, honestly it just felt right. To be empty, emotionless, careless, I had no desire to make anything last one more day. This is when I began to contemplate ways I could end my life.
First I just took higher doses of my medication to numb this shit, didn’t work, how ironic, on to the next way. Higher drugs are my new target, STILL NOT WORKING. Drinking became my new game, my new numbing tool. No matter how many bottles I went through I could not completely satisfy the numbness that I craved.
Once I realized that these attempts were not working, I took it to the next level. One night while trying to sleep, the agony of not wanting to live and not knowing what to do; raced through my head until I walked towards my light blue vintage styled bathroom, opened the wall mirror searching for my sleeping aids. One by one the white coated capsules slipped down my throat with ease until eventually I fell into unconsciousness.
Early the next morning while I was still unconscious, my girlfriend Sarah, who was only aware of some of my issues, ran into my room frantically looking for me because I had not answered my phone all night. Sarah found me passed out, half way over the side of my bathtub. Next thing I know, I woke up in a ten by ten padded room, bound together in a straight jacket with no sense of what had taken place.
Within a few hours two nurses came in to check on me, and offered me something to drink. They only had milk and water; no pop. After twenty-four hours I was freed from the straight jacket and was able to roam the room for the next day or so. I was then moved into a regular room, shared with by another person. They started me on medication and set me up with daily activities and meetings with psychologists.
For the first couple weeks I did not take my medications, I managed to hide it from the nurses during our daily doses. I soon after realized I was not crazy and this place was not meant for me. After seeing all of the crazy people in this facility, I recognized that I should not be here surrounded by other people who have even worse issues. I had finally comprehended that life is something to value, and that is something that I forgot that Aaron and I loved, all aspects of life. After a few sessions with the councilor, Dr. Drew himself also realized that I am on my way to being stable and successful in life.
Even though my sessions and daily routines were going well, they could not let me go home just yet. On a good note, I was allowed visitation back to my house on weekends after a few more weeks had passed. When I went home, I started making art of things in life that I thought were beautiful again. I drew flowers, animals outside or even old antiques that my mom had laying around in the garage. It became my passion. My way to cope with any roads I had to cross that were challenging.
After just a few more weeks of inpatient therapy, I was cleared to go home and treasure the things and people, like Sarah, and life itself for Aaron’s sake. After that, I had to see a councilor for three weeks for out patient treatment to complete the program. Sarah and I grew closer through this experience and I really changed the way I look at life. The way Aaron and I used too.
