My ceiling fan creates a scraping sound as it turns followed by an occasional clink. The curtain creepily twists and dances to the movement of a subtle wind. A cold steel vibe swirls and floats through the room. It’s not the wind, maybe a hallucination from exhaustion, but it’s enough to stir my heart. Damaged and half painted my ceiling is a water mark of the many things damaged and broken in my life.
Leaning against the wall I attempted to get comfortable. I felt a sensation that was like many nights after the surgery, it felt like rocks were digging into my back. This night was a far date from the surgery and was a pain far worse than what I experienced in the jail bed (a bunkbed made of metal) or the ramp bed (a bed Ino broke). I was without a guide, without a light to see passed the foggy horizon.
My shoulder had been hurting for days. Tonight, the pain became brilliant, it had blossomed across my back like a beautiful flower. As it bloomed, the pain stretched to greater depths deep into the roots of my soul. The numbness crawled deep into my nerves chewing and gnawing until my insides began to scream.
The pillows were slipping between the bed and the wall, making it an uncomfortable sitting arrangement. I could’ve gotten up, I was uncomfortable, but I wasn’t there to relax, I was there to die.
On my left was an open bottle of Ativan, to my right was a six pack of flavored alcohol. I chatted on Facebook here and there, every few moments I ate a pill. These things are easier when you take your time. Thats what I tell myself, I think it helps fight the survival mechanism, but maybe it’s the opposite. Once you’re passed the seventh pill the rest just happens. Its like a flowing river, until all the water has filled a lake, a peaceful, uneventful lake.
I don’t know what happened next, I don’t remember.
My friend got to me before I could drink the alcohol. I don’t know how fast it would have been, but the breathing would have been over.
It doesn’t matter where I stayed, because in the state of mind I was in, anywhere would have been hell. It sounds terrible but I should have drunk the beer, it would have been my cool-aid of choice.
I’m not good when I’m alone and confused especially in a hospital. When I woke up alone, I couldn’t remember trying to kill myself, maybe I did, maybe it just depended on the time. I didn’t know what was going on, or why it was happening, nothing was familiar. The room looked like a double wide trailer. I demanded to know why I was there, maybe they answered, I don’t know. Nothing made any sense.
In my head, I remember standing on the bed yelling, I doubt that happened.
There is a distinct sensory and visual memory of me ripping out my IV while yelling, when that happened the staff lost their shit. If that really happened then it makes sense why I remember screaming and crying in the fetal position. There was an old lady lying beside me, comforting me, rubbing my head and arm. I don’t know if that was a person or something they injected me with.
…There is no doubt that I was a terrible guest.
I’ve done a few unfortunate things recently, I tried to kill myself, I believe that’s a good indicator that I’m in over my head. You’re not in a good mental state when that happens I think. I’m so tired of hospitals, but I’m falling apart. The right thing to do is commit myself. I’m going to be checking myself into Center Pointe Hospital tonight.