One thing I will never be able to explain to my family is why I did it. It is hard enough for me to understand. I got in my car and drove on I-80 to San Francisco. I stopped in Ohio, Nebraska, Wyoming, Reno, and San Francisco. I even won $50 on the slots in Reno. That was also where and when I decided to fly to Hawaii. Now that I look back, I think I was doing that to delay what I felt was my inevitable. The whole way to Los Angeles, I felt nothing. For a normal person, the trip I took would have been exciting and fun. For me, I just felt numb. Now that I look back, I see all the wonderful, beautiful things that I saw.

From San Francisco I took US-1 down to L.A. I stayed in L.A. an extra day before flying to Hawaii. There I went to the beach before going to Santa Monica where I pawned my flute. That hurts a lot now because I loved my flute. On my way back from the pawn shop I saw a film crew setting up. They were filming the then new TV show "The Pretender" and the star Michael T. Weiss was even there. I was fascinated, but I moved on to LAX where I flew to Honolulu. I had reservations at the Sheraton Waikiki. I kept delaying my suicide in Hawaii. I explored the area, as much as I could get energy for. I walked up Diamond Head, and even met a few people from England on that hike who I hung out with that night.

Finally, on Thursday September 12, I started my suicide attempt. I ate a nice size dinner with a couple of alcoholic drinks. I went up to my room, turned on the TV, pulled out the alcohol from the hotel fridge, and all the pills I had brought with me. I took 100s of pills with quite a bit of alcohol. I thought it would work. It didn't. Obviously, I hadn't pay too much attention in biology. Instead, I ended up hugging the Porcelain Goddess. Next, I got a razor. That didn't work either. I am a wimp when it comes to pain (ironic, huh?) and my veins are pretty deep in my skin (even nurses have problems finding a good spot to take my pulse). The combination of those two made it a weak attempt, although I have a slight scar left on one wrist. At that point, I wasn't really sure I wanted to do it anymore, but I couldn't see turning back. I had maxed out all my credit cards and had no more money. I had already sent my parents and other friends and family suicide notes. How could I face them? Pretty scary to think that I was so frightened of facing them, asking for help, and fearing failure, that I made the ultimate attempt on my life. My hotel room was on the 11th floor. I don't really remember much of this or the 2 weeks that followed, but I climbed onto the balcony ledge at 7:30 a.m. on Friday, September 13, and jumped.

Obviously I lived, but the whole process of 'waking up alive' is not an easy one. My parents and my sister flew to be with me within 24 hours of the jump. Apparently, I never lost consciousness. That night at Queen's Medical Center in Honolulu I remember a nurse or maybe a doctor telling me my parents were on their way. I think I cried, but I know I was glad they were coming. I had been injured seriously, and I was in ICU. In fact, the only reason I lived was because of a tree, which 'got in my way' and slowed my fall preventing me from breaking my neck. I broke my nose and both cheekbones (although you wouldn't know that looking at me today). I had a skull fracture (every doctor kept giving me cognitive tests to make sure there was no brain damage--there was none). I broke my upper left arm, plus 6 ribs. One rib punctured a lung causing the other lung to collapse. My liver and a kidney were lacerated. My stomach lining had to be repaired. I lost my gallbladder (no gallstones for me!=)). I broke my pelvis in 4 places and shattered my right hip. In surgery for my pelvis and hip, I had a few complications, namely, I had a couple of blood clots which almost caused an amputation of my right leg. That didn't happen, but I do have severe nerve damage in my right leg, under my knee, which ended up preventing me from being able to move my ankle or toes.

I am not complaining. In fact, on most days, these injuries don't bother me because I feel I was given a miracle----life!! The time in the hospital was the hardest. I literally went into surgery for my hip and pelvis after my family had to leave for the mainland, and 'lost' 2 weeks of my life. I don't remember a thing. All I knew was that I was in ICU when I thought I should be on the orthopedic wing of the hospital. I couldn't talk either. The intubation prevented that. Once the tubes were pulled out, I still couldn't talk. My vocal chords were so weak that it wasn't possible. It took about a week before I could begin to talk again, and that was only in a whisper. I couldn't even write because I had the shakes from morphine-withdrawal.

My mom called daily, and other family contacted me on a regular basis. Looking around me, I saw all the cards and balloons that had been sent. Somehow that triggered the lightbulb in my head, reminding myself of how much I was loved. I was so happy that I lived. My biggest regret was hurting those who loved me. But I also knew that I needed more than physical assistance, I needed some psychological assistance.

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