One Was Accidental, Another Was Not

I didn’t post about this earlier, it’s been hard to think about.  I posted previously about how a student died on campus April 4th.  I now post a link to the news that was released shortly after about the real cause of death.  The rumors across campus had been suicide, then accidental death was the official pre-report.  The final report was autoerotic asphyxia, described as intentional deprivation of oxygen from the brain that is generally intended to increase arousal.  Essentially, my understanding of it is that is is strangling oneself, perhaps by hanging, while masturbating.  If done incorrectly, it causes death due to suffocation.  This is what has happened on this campus.  This act would not be condoned by this campus at all.  I haven’t heard much discussion over the cause of death since the incident.  I didn’t go to the memorial service that occurred on campus the Tuesday just after our Easter break.  I had gone to the service the night of his death, but I didn’t feel the memorial service was for me.  I didn’t know him.  As far as I know, I’d never met him.  I don’t know how to handle the cause of death.  This versus suicide.  I’m not sure if affects me more or less than if it had been a suicide.  A suicide has a certain connotation, it’s purposeful, it’s a slap in the face to those who think Taylor is some idyllic community.  I feel as if campus has been somewhat unaffected.  I know that’s not true, but I see life go by like normal, and it just feels like everything is status quo.

Thursday night, two weeks ago.  I didn’t know it then, but a girl that I know took three bottles of pills she had in her room.  Even that detail is unsure, but three bottles were empty is what she said to me.  One of those bottles contained a prescription pain medication that she knew she was allergic to.  I skipped my noon class on Friday and went to the hospital to be there with her.  Took a mutual friend with me, and we spent the afternoon in her hospital room in the intensive care wing.  When we got there, we thought she had accidentally taken the medication she is allergic to and that she was just experiencing an allergic reaction.  We soon discovered that was not the case.  She was hospitalized and not allowed to leave until a psych evaluation had been made.  It’s been termed as an overdose, and as far as I know it counts as a suicide attempt.  Calling it a suicide attempt is a bit iffy, since she went and told someone she wasn’t feeling well and had taken some pills and they convinced her she needed to go to the hospital.  I don’t know what all she actually said to them.  It was not known that she had taken the pills with no logical reason until Friday morning, and then only by authorities.  I was struck.  I didn’t know what to do, how to act, what to say.  I didn’t know how serious things were, I didn’t know how to handle it.

Over the past two weeks I’ve kept as close an eye on her as I can, I’ve been available as much as possible for her, I’ve talked to her, I’ve tried to help as much as I can.  Wednesday night this week I talked with my old roommate who has been through similar things, and we decided to talk to authority about how we knew she had been cutting at some point since the attempt.  We knew she wouldn’t like the breach of trust and confidentiality, but we decided it was necessary and would make us feel better to not feel like the whole responsibility was on our heads.  I’ve been scared a lot in the past two weeks.  I don’t know that I would have described myself as knowing her extremely well before all of this, but apparently she trusts me.  Her parents took her home that weekend and when she came back Sunday night she subtly asked for company, and her roommate asked that I try to talk to her.  I dropped the work I was supposed to be doing and we went out for food.  We talked a while, discussed stuff.  When I dropped her off and went back to my apartment, I thought of more things I wanted to say, so I got online and talked to her more.  I got very little done that night.  I want to tell someone how I feel.  I wanted to talk about it, but I didn’t.  I finally told my best friend from home a little over a week later.  I couldn’t not talk about it anymore.  I needed support and I’ve been feeling incredibly depressed recently.  I was already not doing well before this, when I didn’t know what to do when I graduate.  My best friend visited this week, and I got the job offer I’d been waiting for.  I’m better now, and it seems the friend is too.  But I’m still as broken and screwed up as I always have been.

She didn’t know what there was to live for anymore, and I didn’t know how to help her.  Talking to her just made me remember how lost I am.  I tried to support her, tried to do the right thing with her.  I think she’ll be okay.  But sometimes I just wish I could have an outlet like she does.  Or an outlet like I was trying to be.  I was trying to be to her everything I want someone to be for me.  It hurts.  It hurt to try to help her, to support her knowing I was just going to be tearing myself apart all the while.