But I couldn’t go to sleep. My brain was working overtime wondering what dying would feel like. I didn’t feel the least bit sleepy—I kept trying to concentrate on the music playing, but it was hard to hear over the motor running in the enclosed garage. I went to the front of the van and turned it up so I could hear it better, but I still couldn’t seem to settle down. I tossed and turned trying to get comfortable lying down on the cold car seats.
I now know my manic symptoms were finally working in my favor. I couldn’t settle down, and by the time the CD finished playing, I was frustrated with myself and my attempt to end it all.
I stumbled to the front of the van and turned the ignition off. I was unsteady on my feet, and vaguely realized that I really probably didn’t have that long to get out of the van before the fumes overcame me. I climbed out the driver’s door and hit the button to raise the garage door, letting fresh air rush into the garage. I went outside and took a few deep breaths, then came inside, mad and frustrated with my abortive attempt to kill myself.
After an hour, I started feeling better physically as the fresh air worked its way into my system. I didn’t tell Bob what had happened once he got home for lunch—I was over the impulse to kill myself and didn’t want to ruin Thanksgiving by being in the hospital. So went my only serious attempt to kill myself.