I have tried to commit suicide at least three times that I can remember, all during my adolescence. I tried drinking myself to death ( I can’t drink that much, I guess), I tried mixing pills and booze, and then I tried slitting my wrists with a kitchen knife. I knew enough to “go down the road and not across the tracks”. But the knife I chose was not very sharp, and mostly I just sawed at myself. I bled a lot, but not enough.
The next day at school, a teacher noticed the bandages on my wrists and sent me to the guidance office, where they called my parents and told them to come in. They did so against their will. I told the counselor about the abuse going on at home, I told her about it all, but when my parents arrived, they denied everything (they continue to do so some 30+ years later).
The counselor suggested I be put into inpatient therapy until I was emotionally stable and “safe”. My parents said they would think about it and we all left. On the way home, they told me that such therapy was very expensive, and that I was not worth the expense. I think they meant that they did not think I was really in as bad of shape mentally as my actions indicated, but what I heard was “Your life is not worth saving”.
Given that my sister died at 18 months of age, just 8 months before I was born, I have always been troubled by the way I was allowed to feel worthless and without merit. It all started in 1975, when my mother remarried, and my life changed forever.