(Part 1) Six Months Later

Yes, it has been six months.


Six months ago, I decided to end my life. Yet six months later, I am still sitting here writing this blog post.


Being that I have had plenty of time to cope with my situation, I feel like I am finally ready to open up. I recently made a YouTube video explaining my situation, but no matter how many times I watch that video, I always feel like it doesn’t do enough to explain how I truly felt on that day. (Honestly, I’ve been debating on whether or not I want to delete that video…) Therefore, I’ve finally found the strength within myself to write about that day.


March 28th, 2017.


I want to say that I had a good day, but I honestly do not remember if I had a good day. The only thing I remember was being in a horrible argument with my mom, and then it led me to want to lose my life. Now if you don’t know me that well, one thing you should know right off the bat is that my relationship with my mom has never been the best. Yes, we have our “good” times, but most of the time, we are at each other’s throats. Our personalities are so much the same that we cannot live under the same roof without having an argument almost everyday. On this particular day though, my mom and I got into an argument. It was during the time where my sister had surprised my parents and flew home for her spring break being that she goes to college in California. So for this to occur, it ruined my mood for when my sister was in town. My mom started the argument though. Before I begin this story, I just want to share that my mom is a VERY particular person. When she wants things done a certain way, it HAS to be done THAT way. Otherwise, she will go on a rampage about you and say so much bullshit that you will just be so over it, you just want to leave any environment that she is in. You do not want anything to do with her, basically.


My mom was upset because when she walked into the bathroom, she saw pieces of hair on the floor. Literally, that is why we got into an argument. I know what you’re thinking “What the hell?” Yes, that is my mom. Welcome to my life. Welcome to what happened to me six months ago and this is how it all began.


My mom has always been the person to blame me for everything that goes wrong in her life and in our house. Even if I wasn’t the one who caused that particular issue, she would still blame me. If you ask any of my family members, they will all say the same or they might even say “Well (my name) deserves it anyways.” (But they honestly probably will say that only because I’m not that close with my siblings…) With that being said, my mom got upset seeing a few pieces of hair on the floor. She immediately put my name in her mouth and started going on a rampage about me. She cursed my life with her words, exclaimed how horrible of a human being I am, and basically stated that I’m a “dirty” person. My dad, who was in the living room, heard my mom and told her to be quiet. My mom got mad at my dad for telling her that, so she began to say other things like “All you Hmong people are the same. You all share the same genes. That is why you are all dirty.” My dad argued back saying “You believe in God so much, but why are you like this?” (I don’t remember his exact words, but I know he brought up my mom’s faith against her…) I remember hearing my mom say those harsh words about me and then hearing her argue with my dad, so I got out of my bedroom and yelled at her to stop. I was annoyed. I was frustrated. Let alone, I was confused because I didn’t know why she was so upset in the first place. Then, she yelled her side of the situation and why she was upset. That was when I thought to myself “Is this lady serious right now?” So you know what happened? I argued back with her saying the same thing my dad said “If you claim yourself a religious person, why do you speak so much shit?” Of course she got upset and continued to curse my life and my name even more. It got so bad that my youngest sister who sleeps in the basement came upstairs and yelled at my mom and I to basically shut up– “Will you two just stop it?” My mom told her to go back to bed in a calm voice, and the moment my sister left, my mom’s voice raised back up. I don’t recall what was all that I said to my mom, but it eventually got to the point where I told her “You cannot always blame me for everything that goes wrong. It wasn’t even me who left my pieces of hair on the bathroom floor. You have two other daughters in this house too who have hair. You have no right to talk bad about me alone and all the time.” And she responded with “You live in this house that I pay for. You either listen or get out tonight.” I argued back and she told me to get out of the house. I remember I was so over my mom at that point because 1) I knew I had no where to go and 2) It was too late at night for me to even find a hotel to stay at anyways. I started to cry and told her “You know what, forget it. If you’re that upset over a few pieces of hair on the bathroom floor, I will clean that shit up.” I remember she spoke back to me and she began to mock me. (Who does this type of shit? Little kids, I think. Not grown ass adults.) I was furious and yelled at her “Just stop. Gosh, you win! You get the last fucking say.” And I went to my bedroom and slammed the door.


I was so hurt. I was devastated. And all in all, I felt so so so alone and depressed. I have never encountered anyone in my life who continuously talked bad about me for no apparent reason. The only person I knew doing this was my mom. And that was what hurt me most. My own biological mother bringing me to my lowest. The one thing I will never forget from this night was my mom mumbling under her breath “I wish you would just get into a car accident and die, so I wouldn’t have to deal with you anymore.” My dad heard this because I remember my dad telling my mom to be quiet, again. I don’t think he knew I heard those words, but I did hear… through my bedroom door. I sat behind my door crying my heart out and pleading silently “Why me?” I remember silently praying with tears rolling down my face and having a running nose.  I felt more alone than ever, and eventually, I resorted to Facebook.


On Facebook, I wrote a status explaining that if I died that night, it was because of my mom. Being that I am friends with my mom on Facebook, I tagged her in my post. I didn’t give a fuck anymore. I did what I felt was my only choice left. Immediately, my Facebook friends commented on the status asking what was wrong, some even left prayers, and others messaged me on Facebook messenger. My phone blew up with text messages and phone calls. I remember my guy cousin called me asking me what happened. Being that I am the oldest in my family, I’ve never really had anyone to look up to. So for anyone older than me who reaches out to me, it truly feels like a blessing. My guy cousin who is practically an older brother to me listened to me explain what had happened and told me that if worse came to worse, I could always drive to the east side and stay at his younger brother’s place until I felt better to go home. But of course I didn’t do that.


(I just realized, but I never really mentioned exact times. But the argument occurred around 9:00 PM or 10:00 PM, and my Facebook status probably did not go up until almost 11:00 PM…)


A little after 11:00 PM, when I knew that the majority of my family went to bed, I decided I wanted to really die. At this point, I felt like I had no purpose to continue living. I felt like because I could not get along with my mom, I would never be happy in life. I have always wanted to please her, but on this night, I felt like I could do no more.


Because I’m not the type of person to actually cause “physical” and “painful” harm to myself, I resorted to swallowing medical pills. I sneaked into the kitchen, and I grabbed a bottle of Tylenol and a bottle of vitamins, and swallow a handful of each bottle. I grabbed myself a glass of water and went back to my bedroom.


I eventually received a text message from my boyfriend’s church member (whom I will refer to as Pea in this blog). She asked me what happened, and I told her what happened, and somehow, we eventually were talking on the phone too. Within a matter of minutes, my own church member/cousin texted me too. (I will refer to him as Kenny.) So while I was on the phone with Pea, I began to feel strange. My body felt numb, and I felt cold. I told Pea that, and she immediately told me to drink some water and find something to eat. I remember telling her I didn’t want to because I was afraid that if I did, I would throw up. She told me to try and force myself to throw up because maybe I would feel better, but I was too afraid. I started to fall drowsy, and I remember telling Pea “I’m scared.” Meanwhile, I texted Kenny the exact same things I was telling Pea over the phone, and Kenny told me “Get ready. We’re going to the hospital.” I was hesitant to go, so I told him I did not want to, but he told me “I’m on my way.” I knew then, my situation was worsening. I had to go to the hospital. I continued to stay on the phone with Pea, and I remember I was dozing off while speaking with her. She was trying to keep me awake by saying my name constantly and asking me how I was feeling because she did not want me to go to sleep. (We were scared that if I closed my eyes, I would never wake up again.) Ten minutes later, Kenny was at my house. I put my phone on speaker so Kenny could talk with Pea, and everything from here is somewhat I blur. I recall being in the passenger seat wanting to sleep, but Kenny told me to stay up. I also believe Pea was still on the phone too, and she was telling me to stay up too. I would feel nudges against my arm from Kenny and he would tell me “Hang in there. We’re almost there.” When we got to the hospital, everything happened so quickly. From me checking in and being put in the ER, it was so fast, I don’t remember what exactly happened.


One thing I particularly remember was when the doctor asked me who brought me in, and I referred to Kenny as my cousin. When I asked the doctor and nurses if I could have Kenny in the room with me, they told me no. I was upset and sad. I told them I was scared and they told me that because this was an attempted suicide, their policy is to not have anyone in the room besides a nurse, who had to watch me during my entire stay. I remember laying in my hospital bed silently crying because I now felt more alone than ever. To be secluded from the outside world in a tiny hospital bed in the ER, it was miserable. When I began to regain a bit of consciousness (I was conscious throughout this whole incident, but I was mentally and physically “in and out of it” for a few hours due to the side effects of the medical pills I had taken in…), I saw two IV tubes hooked on me. One on each arm. One IV had an antibiotic for a UTI and the other had salt water. According to my urine sample that I had given, the doctor confirmed I had a UTI. So they gave me an antibiotic regardless. And since we’re on the topic of my urine sample, let me mention, when I had to give that urine sample, I had two choices 1) Lock the door while the nurse was in the bathroom with me or 2) Leave the door slightly cracked open, and the nurse would stand outside the door. (This is how serious it is when you attempt suicide and end up in the hospital! If you think attempting suicide is a joke, it is NOT!) Anyways, after regaining consciousness, I was questioned by the primary doctor and he made me feel so upset even more.


Due to this being an attempted suicide, I had one of two choices by the doctor: go to a psychological ward/hospital for 72 hours being interviewed and watched by a psychologist OR be discharged under police surveillance for 72 hours. Neither of the choices were what I wanted because at the end of the day, I knew I still had a job to show up to and classes to attend. I asked the doctor if I had any other choices, and he told me no. I kept my anger to myself because I knew, this doctor was not going to let me escape this misery in the ER. I was in the hospital long enough that night that eventually, the shift changes occurred, so by 6:00 AM, I had a different doctor and nurse. Both of whom were way more open and kind than the first doctor and nurse I had dealt with. The second doctor made me aware of the same choices the first doctor had given me, and she also told me that prior to me going to the psychological ward/hospital, I would speak with the liaison at the psychological ward/hospital to determine if I really had to go in– which mind you, the first doctor did not even tell me. When she told me that, I felt a sigh of relief. I thanked her for telling me that because the first doctor made me feel so miserable, and she responded “I’m not supposed to tell you that because it can cause victims of attempted suicides to “fake” their way out of both choices, but I feel like because you truly understand how serious suicide is, I had to tell you.” I felt reassurance and hope that I would eventually leave the hospital.


Around 8:00 AM, it was time for me to speak with the liaison. I was expecting an older man who would be cruel and not understanding, but instead, I spoke with the complete opposite person I was expecting. I had a very understanding and caring liaison who made me feel comfortable. She knew that since this was my first attempted suicide, she wanted to let me know that if I truly felt like I did not want to undergo the “treatment” at the psychological ward/hospital, she would not force me to. Especially being that I had gone through so much within the past 12 hours. I had to promise her over the phone to never hurt myself ever again and that if I ever felt like this, I should seek therapy. Because of our phone conversation, she liaison told the nurse to dismiss me from being surveillanced by an officer AND from being transferred to the psychological ward/hospital.


{Part 2 will be posted in a few hours once I get some rest since it is almost midnight as I type this…}






Forgiving Myself

Do you ever have those days where you’re just in a really bad mood? You are filled with anger, guilt, sadness, sorrow, and pity? And do you ever find yourself blaming no one, but yourself? I cannot even begin to tell you how many times I have felt these negative emotions within my soul, body, and mind. Want to know a confession of mine? I have depression. That is partially the reason behind these negative emotions within me.


{Side note: I have never been formally diagnosed by any medical professional that I have depression, but after talking with family, friends, and even strangers, I’ve come to accept the fact that depression is something I have that is quite obvious.}


On March 28th, 2017, I decided to take my life. (Obviously, it failed because I would not be here to write this post today.) I chose to take my life because of these emotions that rode away the goodness in my life. The negative energy was so strong, that thinking back to that day, I cringe and feel like a fool for attempting suicide. On that day, I remember feeling so broken and alone that I felt like my only choice was to leave the world forever, so that is exactly what I attempted to do what I did.


When I continue to think about how I almost gave my life away because of all these negative emotions in my life at the time, I feel so so so stupid. I always hear a second voice in my head asking “why”. To this day, I cannot even give a specific reason on why I attempted to commit suicide. When I think about my reason, it’s honestly just a reason with what seems to be many little excuses. Luckily, I haven’t had much people who have asked about that incident since I came home from the hospital. To be honest, being a Hmong person in general and attempting to commit suicide, it seems to be such a taboo or forbidden topic within the everyday conversations– actually, just forbidden in any conversation. Hence, this is probably why I haven’t really had to explain my situation. But of course for those who know about my incident, like my “friends” on Facebook and my actual close friends and family members, they’ve asked me for details and a reasoning behind why I chose to attempt suicide. Strange enough, when I try to think back to that day and share the details, it all becomes a blur. I studder so much telling about that day that I feel like people don’t even believe me because I constantly have to pause and rethink if what I am about to tell others is true because of course I do not want to tell them the wrong things. Therefore, I’ve just never really been able to truly share that day with anyone, sadly.


I would go into details about March 28th, 2017, but that is most likely going to be saved for another blog post. I bring up depression and suicide because I want today’s blog post to be about forgiving yourself, or how I’ve learned to forgive myself specifically. After such a traumatic event, the path to forgiveness has been a roller-coaster of emotions for myself and the people I love in my life.


I remember not even thinking about forgiving myself within the first week of me being released from the hospital. I was so ashamed, I tried to hide myself from everybody for that week. I did not want to deal with people speaking of forgiveness to me because I wholeheartedly knew I was never going to forgive myself. But after that week, I gave in and opened up about forgiveness to many people who love me so much. It was then that  I realized how much love these people who I call my boyfriend, family, and friends, gave me, that I realized, this was simply something I could not control because my emotions were unstable. Day by day, week by week, month by month, I put myself on this path to finding forgiveness. As it reaches the fourth month anniversary since my incident, I feel like I have forgiven myself for what I did on that day. I’ve spent countless days and nights crying because I was so lost on this path of mine, but to be surrounded by great people who showed that they care for and love me so so sooo much, I found forgiveness, and I could not be happier about that. Here I was feeling so ashamed of myself and telling myself I would never forgive myself for almost taking my life, but months later, I have learned to accept the past, move on, and simply forgive.


This journey of life is not easy, and along the way, we always forgive in order to move on each day, and that day was simply one of “those” days. Forgiveness is something that definitely takes time and takes a lot of courage, but it truly is what helps bring back that goodness again.


I am that living proof for I have received my goodness back.


-Little Gao



Who Is “Little Gao”?



First and foremost, thank you for stopping by my blog and for taking the time to read this specific post. I see that you are interested in learning about my identity. But unfortunately, due to my own personal concerns, I will not be disclosing my name and location for privacy reasons. (My apologies, in advance.) However, I do not mind sharing a little about me.


I am a Hmong-American woman who is 22 years old. Most will not believe I am of that age because of my physical appearance: standing almost 4′ 11″ with a very, very petite body build. I promise you that I am of that age. I’d show you my birth certificate, but as stated earlier, your girl is not trying to give herself a name yet… literally. I was born in the United States to a decently sized family; and, might I mention, I am the first born child in my family. Therefore, being a Hmong-American woman who is the oldest in her family, you can guarantee that there is a hell of a lot of responsibility and pressure given to me. Aside from being a 22 year old Hmong-American woman who is the oldest child in her family, I have hobbies too. 😉


If you went to school with me, you will know that I have always had a passion for art, specifically drawing. I remember in grade school, my art teacher(s) would always ask if they could keep my artwork as an example for future classes. Of course I would always let them because it made me really proud to know that my art teacher(s) really appreciated my hard work. Unfortunately, come high school, it was not exactly like that. I came across many “opponents” you could say from other nearby middle schools who transferred to my high school who had seemed to have way more experience with drawing than I ever did in my lifetime; therefore, during high school, I kind of gave up on my passion for drawing. Now a days, in my early twenties, I have discovered a new passion: photography. I’ve only had my Canon DSLR camera for about two years, but I only just started putting it to use less than a year ago. I started off by capturing images of individuals, then slowly and gradually I started to capture groups of people (ie: friends or families). Even to this day, I am still capturing memories for individuals and families/friends. I love photography, and with it, I have learned to have patience. Patience is a virtue, and I stand by that 110%. Throughout my life, I will admit, I was not a very patient person, but by starting a freelance business for photography, I have grown a lot of patience to apply in my everyday life. All the times my “clients” were late, and all the times I was “bailed”, you can bet that my patience has increased a lot. But to not make this a super long “about me” post, I once had a passion for drawing, but I have a passion for photography now.


Moving on, my reason for creating this blog is to share some of my most intimate and personal reflections from my life. As much as I would love to openly have conversations about my personal life with my friends and family members, I am just not comfortable to be open about those certain topics yet. But by starting this blog, it will help me learn how to open up myself more to those in my life, and maybe help me get rid of my fear to sharing certain areas of my life without feeling judged.


Also, for making it this far– please read my next blog post, as it will be an attention grabber for you to stay around.


I guess that is all that I will share about me for now. Maybe one day I can share my real identity with you.


-Little Gao


PS: “Gao” is not my real name, but it is a feminine word within the Hmong language for a woman. So please do not think that is my name. It is just a “pen” name. Also, because I am little, that is the reason behind my blog name: Little Gao 🙂