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This is a true account, however the names of the people involved have been changed. This is copy written material, taken from the book, No
More Pain! Breaking the Silence of Self-Injury.
A few weeks passed since having surgery (on my left arm after burning it), and I lay in bed thinking about my life and where I ended up. I couldn't
stand the thought of another day. On October 4, 1993 I called a former girlfriend, Dina and told her I couldn't handle this anymore. She stayed on the
phone with me until I calmed down and assured me that I would feel better the next day. When I awoke the next morning nothing changed, in fact I
felt worse. The thoughts seemed as they were coming from every direction. I couldn't handle having mental illness, being miserable, so I decided
that I would end my life. Thoughts flooded my mind. They are coming for you, I thought.
I had it with living and wanted out and didn't care about anything or anybody anymore. I was tired of disappointments. I was sick of the voices and
the emotional pain. I couldn't stand to live in the past anymore. I didn't want to go through another anxiety attack. I was tired of throwing up food, and
struggling with an eating disorder. I didn't want to go through any of this anymore.
On October 5, 1993 around 7am I woke up and put on a pair of baggy jean shorts, black T-shirt and black flats and took my backpack and filled it
with all my medication (Tegratol, Librium, Sinaquan, Lithium, Trilafon and Ativan). I stopped off for some beer, bacardi and was on my way. I had
just gotten my prescriptions filled, so I had a 30 day supply of each and knew that if I mixed all that with alcohol that I would be sure to die. (I took 17
pills daily) I decided to drive down to Seaside Heights at Azzec Hotel since this was the first place that I had lived in when I first came to NJ. Still had
my cast on my left arm.
As I was heading down to the shore, I stopped at a rest stop to call Dina. She asked where I was. I told her I knew something was up and couldn't
take it anymore and couldn't bear to go to another hospital and didn't want to live like this anymore. She had told me that along with my therapist and
herself, at about 7:15 a psychiatric crew showed up at the house, but I had already left.
"Vic, where are you going?" Dina asked.
"I'm going to the place that I first came to." I answered. I became agitated and angry and slammed the phone down. Dina knew a lot about me and
she remembered that the first place I had ever lived when I was a little girl was the Azzec Hotel!
When I arrived at the hotel, I gave them my credit card and I checked in and got a poolside view. I put on the television to a soap opera because I
really wanted to get depressed. I took all my medication and laid them on the counter. I categorized them and put the beer and Bacardi on ice in the
sink. I took a few swigs of beer and grabbed a handful of sinaquan, trilafon, tegretol and some lithium.
Suddenly, I heard a tapping on the window, and glanced over and there were two uniform police officers at the window. I shut the drapes and asked
what they wanted, and they said they were called with a report that I may be trying to kill myself. I laughed and said, "If I were trying to kill myself
would I do it in front of a big window with the drapes open?" (I guess the answer to this question is yes, as I was trying to kill myself and the drapes
were wide open)
They asked if they could come in. I told them "Sure." I quickly went to the counter and took as much medication I could grab and shoved it into my
pockets.
The two officers came in and looked around the room.
"How are you doing?" one of them asked.
"I'm doing fine." I answered. They were trying to make small talk, and began poking around. I was quite angry because they were totally wrecking my
plans.
One of the officers walked over to the sink and asked, "You have a little bit off alcohol here, don't you, isn't it a bit early to drink?
I said, "I am of legal age and I'm not going anywhere, why do you care anyway?"
The other officer asked me what the pills on the counter were for. I told him that was my medication for the week and that I was getting it ready.
He said, "Getting ready for what?"
I said, "Why are you guys here? I am not bothering anyone."
They proceeded to explain that they received a concerned call that I was going to kill myself.
I looked at them and laughed and said, "Do I look like I am trying to kill myself?"
The one officer looked at me, then glanced around and said, "Well, there is a little bit of evidence that you might be trying to do something."
I said, "Look, I am having a bad day and am drinking, that's all".
He said, "Could I look in your backpack?"
"Can I look in yours?" I asked.
"I don't have one." He said.
I firmly said, "Well, then no. No you cannot, you have no reason to look through my stuff."
My plan to kill myself was going smoothly until these guys came onto the scene. At this point I was just trying to figure a way to get them out of the
room, I had yet to finish my pills and needed to get them into my system.
By now a couple other officers had come into the room, and now I was getting upset. They told me that when someone places a call regarding a
suicide that they are required to follow up. I told them I was fine.
The one officer said, "If you are fine, that's great, will you at least talk with one of the counselors from the hotline?"
"Why don't you talk to one of the counselors instead?" I suggested.
"Because I am not the one who the call is about." the officer said.
"Look, what's the point?" I asked.
Yeah that is exactly what I need, another conversation with a counselor! They can't help me.
The officer explained to me that they want to determine if I am suicidal or not.
I went over and took a large swig of Bacardi, then opened a beer, and all four officers just stared.
One officer flinched and came toward me and said, "Don't drink that!"
I smirked at him and said, "Look, I let you in because you are cops, you guys came on in here, and all I'm doing is humoring you, so if you don't like
me drinking, well you can leave."
As time was passing all I could think about was getting the rest of the pills in me. I couldn't take the pills from the counter because I thought they
would get suspicious, and by the way they were all acting, they probably jump me and frisk me. I'd go to a hospital for sure and my plan would be
foiled.
I just had no zeal for life and just plain didn't care anymore.
Remembering that I had put some pills in my pocket, I figured I'd go to the bathroom to take them.
"I'll be right back, I'm going to the bathroom."
I quickly grabbed a beer, and the one officer looked at me and asked, "Why are you taking that?"
"To drink". I said as I closed the bathroom door.
I quickly took all the pills out of my pocket and proceeded to swallow the pills with the bottle of beer.
When I got out of the bathroom, the officers were staring at me.
These guys were really beginning to bug me, so I looked at the one cop and said, "Hey, if you thought I was suicidal, that sure was dumb to let me
go to the bathroom, how do you know I didn't have a gun in there?" Two of the officers scrambled into the bathroom.
I had refused to talk on the phone with their psychiatric services three times, and I guess they realized that I was not going to give up without a fight.
I was starting to feel a little woozy, and tired, but I was not about to give up, as I was so close to succeeding. I was the closest to it all ending more
than I was ever was before. I had no doubt that I would follow through because I had the same determination
that I had the day I burned my left arm: no matter what obstacle came my way, I was going to go through with this.
The phone rang and it was my friend Tom.
He said, "Vicki, look, I know why you are there and what you are trying to do".
I said, "Look Tom you don't know what it's like, I can't live this way anymore."
"I may not have been through what you have, but you can't kill yourself, you have so much to live for." Tom said.
"Oh really? Okay Tom, I'll play your game; give me one good reason why I should live, just one." I asked
What seemed like hours was just seconds as a long pause took place, he then said, "Vicki you are so pretty."
I said, "Boy, Tom, is that all you could come up with is ‘you’re pretty’?"
Ted just gasped and said, "Vicki, I've never been in this situation before, all I know is that you are doing everything you can to die and I am doing
everything in my power to live." (Tom was dying of AIDS)
He just begged me to go with the psychiatric services.
When I got off the phone with Tom I laid onto the bed and one of the officers was talking with me and he asked me if I knew if I was going to heaven
when I died.
I turned to him and said, "I know you are trying to be nice, but I don't really care about heaven or what you have to say because nothing matters
anymore, I'm sorry."
"You should care about where you are going." He said.
"Well, the only place I care about going is away from here and not living." I said.
He grinned and told me that I will be okay.
I was now having a tough time focusing, and I agreed to talk with psychiatric services. At this point I was slurring my words and I couldn't see well.
They put me on a stretcher and took me to the ambulance. When they lifted me up to the ambulance door, I saw bright light, in fact it was the
brightest light I had ever seen. The last thing I remember hearing was "Vicki, can you hear me, Vicki, your fading, your eyes are rolling back, Vicki
did you take something?"
The ambulance brought me to CMC in Toms River, NJ.
I am not sure exactly how long I was out of it for, but I woke up around 8pm.
My mother was there at the bedside and I looked up and said, Oh, DAMN!"
There were so many thoughts and emotions going on inside me. I was absolutely angry that I was alive. All I thought about was how bad things
were and that I have to live through it again. I did not want to live; I had absolutely no reason to want to be alive.
“Honey, I love you. Do you know you were minutes away from death? The doctors said you were minutes away, Vic.” my mother said as she was
crying.
I looked away from my mother because I knew this was hurting her and didn't want to upset her.
My mother was crying and said, "Vicki, this was close, this was a very close call, now I know that you really do want to die."
I looked at her and said, "You're only figuring that out now?"
She just put her head down and cried.
They had given me charcoal to absorb all the pills. I had purple all over me from the charcoal and as my mother puts it, “you looked like hell.”
One of the counselors had come into the room and was advising me of my options. I had the choice of a private facility, the county's psychiatric unit
at Kimberly Hospital or as a last resort committed to Gravestone a state hospital.
The counselor explained that the private facility may not be an option as my insurance may not cover the costs, due to it being used up from the last
hospital stay.
She suggested the psychiatric unit.
I turned away and was only partly listening. I was fading in and out due to the medication. She explained to my mother that they could not release
me freely, as I was a risk and that I should be willing to at least consider the county's psychiatric unit.
At this point I didn't care where I went because I wanted to be dead and dreaded one more session of group therapy, or a room with more
crazy people like me.
"I am sick and tired of living my life in fear and torment. I am finished with therapy and group sessions and am tired of rehashing stuff over and over
and over; I will not go to another hospital". I told her.
"If you don't volunteer to go to the county hospital, you will be committed to the state institution."
"Fine." I said.
"If you sign yourself to the state institution, your family cannot get you released, you "belong" to the state." She said.
"Like I said, fine, maybe I'll die there then." I said defiantly.
Looking back, my thoughts were a bit clouded from all the pills and alcohol, plus I was quite upset that I had to live in torment again.
My mom talked to me for over an hour there and was begging me to reconsider and that it would work out and that things would change.
"Honey, you do not want to go be committed, if you go to Kimbel, you will get good help, but you are not ordered to stay there. If you go to the state
institution you will have no say in your release. I won't even be able to get you out of there." my mother pleaded with me.
I finally gave in and was admitted to KM Center in Lakewood, NJ. Although I wasn't appreciative at the moment, I now thank God that my mother
was there that day -- if she hadn't been there I would have signed myself to the state hospital. That was my last hospitalization. After my release,
things went uphill and I still struggled with many things. Even though things were worse, I was determined that I would never go back into the
hospital again. And by having that determination, somehow it kept me from wanting to kill myself.
It wasn't until a few years later that my life changed. For me, it was developing a faith in God. No matter what your thoughts of God or raith is, please
know that whatever you are facing, you can get through it. Don’t give up.
God has a plan for you - He really does. “I know the plans I have for you”, says the Lord. They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a
future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11
More Pain! Breaking the Silence of Self-Injury.
A few weeks passed since having surgery (on my left arm after burning it), and I lay in bed thinking about my life and where I ended up. I couldn't
stand the thought of another day. On October 4, 1993 I called a former girlfriend, Dina and told her I couldn't handle this anymore. She stayed on the
phone with me until I calmed down and assured me that I would feel better the next day. When I awoke the next morning nothing changed, in fact I
felt worse. The thoughts seemed as they were coming from every direction. I couldn't handle having mental illness, being miserable, so I decided
that I would end my life. Thoughts flooded my mind. They are coming for you, I thought.
I had it with living and wanted out and didn't care about anything or anybody anymore. I was tired of disappointments. I was sick of the voices and
the emotional pain. I couldn't stand to live in the past anymore. I didn't want to go through another anxiety attack. I was tired of throwing up food, and
struggling with an eating disorder. I didn't want to go through any of this anymore.
On October 5, 1993 around 7am I woke up and put on a pair of baggy jean shorts, black T-shirt and black flats and took my backpack and filled it
with all my medication (Tegratol, Librium, Sinaquan, Lithium, Trilafon and Ativan). I stopped off for some beer, bacardi and was on my way. I had
just gotten my prescriptions filled, so I had a 30 day supply of each and knew that if I mixed all that with alcohol that I would be sure to die. (I took 17
pills daily) I decided to drive down to Seaside Heights at Azzec Hotel since this was the first place that I had lived in when I first came to NJ. Still had
my cast on my left arm.
As I was heading down to the shore, I stopped at a rest stop to call Dina. She asked where I was. I told her I knew something was up and couldn't
take it anymore and couldn't bear to go to another hospital and didn't want to live like this anymore. She had told me that along with my therapist and
herself, at about 7:15 a psychiatric crew showed up at the house, but I had already left.
"Vic, where are you going?" Dina asked.
"I'm going to the place that I first came to." I answered. I became agitated and angry and slammed the phone down. Dina knew a lot about me and
she remembered that the first place I had ever lived when I was a little girl was the Azzec Hotel!
When I arrived at the hotel, I gave them my credit card and I checked in and got a poolside view. I put on the television to a soap opera because I
really wanted to get depressed. I took all my medication and laid them on the counter. I categorized them and put the beer and Bacardi on ice in the
sink. I took a few swigs of beer and grabbed a handful of sinaquan, trilafon, tegretol and some lithium.
Suddenly, I heard a tapping on the window, and glanced over and there were two uniform police officers at the window. I shut the drapes and asked
what they wanted, and they said they were called with a report that I may be trying to kill myself. I laughed and said, "If I were trying to kill myself
would I do it in front of a big window with the drapes open?" (I guess the answer to this question is yes, as I was trying to kill myself and the drapes
were wide open)
They asked if they could come in. I told them "Sure." I quickly went to the counter and took as much medication I could grab and shoved it into my
pockets.
The two officers came in and looked around the room.
"How are you doing?" one of them asked.
"I'm doing fine." I answered. They were trying to make small talk, and began poking around. I was quite angry because they were totally wrecking my
plans.
One of the officers walked over to the sink and asked, "You have a little bit off alcohol here, don't you, isn't it a bit early to drink?
I said, "I am of legal age and I'm not going anywhere, why do you care anyway?"
The other officer asked me what the pills on the counter were for. I told him that was my medication for the week and that I was getting it ready.
He said, "Getting ready for what?"
I said, "Why are you guys here? I am not bothering anyone."
They proceeded to explain that they received a concerned call that I was going to kill myself.
I looked at them and laughed and said, "Do I look like I am trying to kill myself?"
The one officer looked at me, then glanced around and said, "Well, there is a little bit of evidence that you might be trying to do something."
I said, "Look, I am having a bad day and am drinking, that's all".
He said, "Could I look in your backpack?"
"Can I look in yours?" I asked.
"I don't have one." He said.
I firmly said, "Well, then no. No you cannot, you have no reason to look through my stuff."
My plan to kill myself was going smoothly until these guys came onto the scene. At this point I was just trying to figure a way to get them out of the
room, I had yet to finish my pills and needed to get them into my system.
By now a couple other officers had come into the room, and now I was getting upset. They told me that when someone places a call regarding a
suicide that they are required to follow up. I told them I was fine.
The one officer said, "If you are fine, that's great, will you at least talk with one of the counselors from the hotline?"
"Why don't you talk to one of the counselors instead?" I suggested.
"Because I am not the one who the call is about." the officer said.
"Look, what's the point?" I asked.
Yeah that is exactly what I need, another conversation with a counselor! They can't help me.
The officer explained to me that they want to determine if I am suicidal or not.
I went over and took a large swig of Bacardi, then opened a beer, and all four officers just stared.
One officer flinched and came toward me and said, "Don't drink that!"
I smirked at him and said, "Look, I let you in because you are cops, you guys came on in here, and all I'm doing is humoring you, so if you don't like
me drinking, well you can leave."
As time was passing all I could think about was getting the rest of the pills in me. I couldn't take the pills from the counter because I thought they
would get suspicious, and by the way they were all acting, they probably jump me and frisk me. I'd go to a hospital for sure and my plan would be
foiled.
I just had no zeal for life and just plain didn't care anymore.
Remembering that I had put some pills in my pocket, I figured I'd go to the bathroom to take them.
"I'll be right back, I'm going to the bathroom."
I quickly grabbed a beer, and the one officer looked at me and asked, "Why are you taking that?"
"To drink". I said as I closed the bathroom door.
I quickly took all the pills out of my pocket and proceeded to swallow the pills with the bottle of beer.
When I got out of the bathroom, the officers were staring at me.
These guys were really beginning to bug me, so I looked at the one cop and said, "Hey, if you thought I was suicidal, that sure was dumb to let me
go to the bathroom, how do you know I didn't have a gun in there?" Two of the officers scrambled into the bathroom.
I had refused to talk on the phone with their psychiatric services three times, and I guess they realized that I was not going to give up without a fight.
I was starting to feel a little woozy, and tired, but I was not about to give up, as I was so close to succeeding. I was the closest to it all ending more
than I was ever was before. I had no doubt that I would follow through because I had the same determination
that I had the day I burned my left arm: no matter what obstacle came my way, I was going to go through with this.
The phone rang and it was my friend Tom.
He said, "Vicki, look, I know why you are there and what you are trying to do".
I said, "Look Tom you don't know what it's like, I can't live this way anymore."
"I may not have been through what you have, but you can't kill yourself, you have so much to live for." Tom said.
"Oh really? Okay Tom, I'll play your game; give me one good reason why I should live, just one." I asked
What seemed like hours was just seconds as a long pause took place, he then said, "Vicki you are so pretty."
I said, "Boy, Tom, is that all you could come up with is ‘you’re pretty’?"
Ted just gasped and said, "Vicki, I've never been in this situation before, all I know is that you are doing everything you can to die and I am doing
everything in my power to live." (Tom was dying of AIDS)
He just begged me to go with the psychiatric services.
When I got off the phone with Tom I laid onto the bed and one of the officers was talking with me and he asked me if I knew if I was going to heaven
when I died.
I turned to him and said, "I know you are trying to be nice, but I don't really care about heaven or what you have to say because nothing matters
anymore, I'm sorry."
"You should care about where you are going." He said.
"Well, the only place I care about going is away from here and not living." I said.
He grinned and told me that I will be okay.
I was now having a tough time focusing, and I agreed to talk with psychiatric services. At this point I was slurring my words and I couldn't see well.
They put me on a stretcher and took me to the ambulance. When they lifted me up to the ambulance door, I saw bright light, in fact it was the
brightest light I had ever seen. The last thing I remember hearing was "Vicki, can you hear me, Vicki, your fading, your eyes are rolling back, Vicki
did you take something?"
The ambulance brought me to CMC in Toms River, NJ.
I am not sure exactly how long I was out of it for, but I woke up around 8pm.
My mother was there at the bedside and I looked up and said, Oh, DAMN!"
There were so many thoughts and emotions going on inside me. I was absolutely angry that I was alive. All I thought about was how bad things
were and that I have to live through it again. I did not want to live; I had absolutely no reason to want to be alive.
“Honey, I love you. Do you know you were minutes away from death? The doctors said you were minutes away, Vic.” my mother said as she was
crying.
I looked away from my mother because I knew this was hurting her and didn't want to upset her.
My mother was crying and said, "Vicki, this was close, this was a very close call, now I know that you really do want to die."
I looked at her and said, "You're only figuring that out now?"
She just put her head down and cried.
They had given me charcoal to absorb all the pills. I had purple all over me from the charcoal and as my mother puts it, “you looked like hell.”
One of the counselors had come into the room and was advising me of my options. I had the choice of a private facility, the county's psychiatric unit
at Kimberly Hospital or as a last resort committed to Gravestone a state hospital.
The counselor explained that the private facility may not be an option as my insurance may not cover the costs, due to it being used up from the last
hospital stay.
She suggested the psychiatric unit.
I turned away and was only partly listening. I was fading in and out due to the medication. She explained to my mother that they could not release
me freely, as I was a risk and that I should be willing to at least consider the county's psychiatric unit.
At this point I didn't care where I went because I wanted to be dead and dreaded one more session of group therapy, or a room with more
crazy people like me.
"I am sick and tired of living my life in fear and torment. I am finished with therapy and group sessions and am tired of rehashing stuff over and over
and over; I will not go to another hospital". I told her.
"If you don't volunteer to go to the county hospital, you will be committed to the state institution."
"Fine." I said.
"If you sign yourself to the state institution, your family cannot get you released, you "belong" to the state." She said.
"Like I said, fine, maybe I'll die there then." I said defiantly.
Looking back, my thoughts were a bit clouded from all the pills and alcohol, plus I was quite upset that I had to live in torment again.
My mom talked to me for over an hour there and was begging me to reconsider and that it would work out and that things would change.
"Honey, you do not want to go be committed, if you go to Kimbel, you will get good help, but you are not ordered to stay there. If you go to the state
institution you will have no say in your release. I won't even be able to get you out of there." my mother pleaded with me.
I finally gave in and was admitted to KM Center in Lakewood, NJ. Although I wasn't appreciative at the moment, I now thank God that my mother
was there that day -- if she hadn't been there I would have signed myself to the state hospital. That was my last hospitalization. After my release,
things went uphill and I still struggled with many things. Even though things were worse, I was determined that I would never go back into the
hospital again. And by having that determination, somehow it kept me from wanting to kill myself.
It wasn't until a few years later that my life changed. For me, it was developing a faith in God. No matter what your thoughts of God or raith is, please
know that whatever you are facing, you can get through it. Don’t give up.
God has a plan for you - He really does. “I know the plans I have for you”, says the Lord. They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a
future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11
EndAllThePain.com
Breaking the Silence of Self-Injury
Breaking the Silence of Self-Injury
| The official website for Vicki F. Duffy Author - Inspiring Speaker - Advocate |
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