Just one more good story

  August 26th, 2009 by Sideblinder

This will be my first post here. Hello.

A couple years ago I attempted to overdose on sleeping pills.  I was on anti-depressants that I had been taking irregularly because I had just moved into a new, very tiny, apartment with my new girlfriend.  We had been together for a little under a year.  In addition to anti-depressants I had some perscription sleep meds, and one night after weeks and weeks of worsening depression, I decided I would take them all.

I sat on the bathroom floor for an hour, and just stared at the walls.  After that I went outside and stared at the sky for a while, before going back inside and swallowing a handful of 12 pills.  I stared at myself in the mirror for about an hour after that, and swallowed 3 more.

I went and knelt by my sleeping girlfriend, and cried against her hand, and softly said what I thought was my goodbye.  Thinking that this was it, that I had done it, I became rather calm, and kissed her forehead, and sat myself on the floor in the darkness to carry out the rest of my plan, before going to wander out to sleep in the street, because I didn’t want her to wake up next to my corpse.

For the next 5 hours, I popped another pill every twenty or thirty minutes, and thought of something I would miss, or regretted not doing.

Never see another sunries…whatever, don’t like them anyway.  Never went kayaking…why would I ever want to go fucking kayaking?  Never got to skydive?  Probably wouldn’t have enjoyed that too much either.  The list goes on an on and as far as I can remember, nothing, not one thing made me sad.

Until I thought: I’ll never read another good book.  I’ll never get to turn another page.  I’ll never know the satisfaction of finishing a good story again.

And then I began to cry again.

I love reading, and writing, as you may have noticed, and I never get to do it anymore, I just don’t have the energy to make the time for myself.  I work, and I drink, and I sleep.  And I hate it, but I feel like I hate everything else so much more.  I love to read, but I never get to, because I can’t read at home, people demand my attention.  Of course, I can’t read at work.  I can’t read at the bar, hell why didn’t I just stay at home if I was going to bring a book there?  I’d maybe go somewhere else, to a coffee shop or something, but I’m scared to go anywhere, to talk to anyone, to be anywhere strange.  The familiar is uncomfortable and the unfamiliar is terrifying.

In the end, I suppose I took too many at once.  The first handful capsules all dissolved at once and my stupid body went all survival-mode on me.  About 7 or 8 hours after deciding to go through with it, I was clutching my stomach almost screaming in pain and spewing bright orange into the toilet.  That lasted for, oh, let’s see…I think about 10 hours. I won’t be trying that again.

I’ll never forget counting out pills and trying to think of reasons to live.

Funny thing is, I don’t regret it.

But I am glad I got to read that book.

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