Dear Shane, I tried to kill myself

[jazz m]

After my third hospitalization and during a rampant crush on a boy, I furiously wrote this zine about the depression that lead up to the suicide attempts that landed me in the hospital. I scribbled on the MAX, on buses, about my decent into more severe illness, interactions with medical providers, and all the temporary friendships I made in the hospital. I wrote about how to talk to psychiatrists if you're looking for help, and how to talk to them if you're trying to convince them if you don't need help. This zine is about my personal journey and experience through mental illness and, additionally, navigating the psychiatric system with tips, tricks, and advice. 

 

The zine should have 'trigger' stamped all over it. There are triggers for suicide, depression, self injury, disordered eating, gender dysphoria, criminal activity, anxiety, grief, but it wouldn't be fun without all of that business, would it? I've also got a wicked sense of humor and I swear it comes across and makes the zine just like me: intense, in a funny, hard, and rewarding way. 

 

An exerpt:

Even though it seemed like inpatient treatment was pending for me, I got escorted back into an ER room. This is where I'd stay for the night, until they would or wouldn't admit me the next morning. Every single time, before going into inpatient, I have to do this overnight ER stay. There may be a way around it, but I haven't figured it out yet. I wish I could, because I hate this part. It doesn't get better or easier, it has only become predictable. First, the nurse takes all of my personal belongings with the exception of a book, a journal, and a pen. The nurse will then make me change out of my clothes and into these paper scrubs that, for this facility, are always this horrible watered-down hunter green color.

I hate the paper scrubs. I find a lot of comfort in my own clothing, my layers of t-shirts and hoodie and jeans, my messenger bag and all my belongings. Being separated from everything familiar so suddenly is scary and overwhelming and alarming. It makes me feel exposed and vulnerable in every way. I completely understand the purpose behind it – the first time I was here, if they hadn't taken my stuff, I would have bolted. That, and they want to make sure you're not going to kill yourself with something from your own clothes, I guess. It doesn't make it any better when you slip on those sheer paper clothes and have to sit on the bed in the room by yourself, until the next nurse comes in. They feel kind of like cloth tissue paper, and if you move at a weird angle or accidentally catch yourself on something, you'll rip yourself open – I remember during my second stay, I ripped the crotch of the pants wide open.

Details: The zine is 101 pages, half sized, $6 or I'm open to trades. I can do mail money or paypal. Message me and we can work something out! 

[crapandemic]

eeee I'm so excited to read it!