It was June 13th, 2011. The first monday of summer vacation. My parents had both left for work, and I was babysitting my 10-year-old brother Gibson. It wasn’t much of a task, all he did was ignore me and play games on the computor. He didn’t notice. He didn’t notice his big sister take the jug of apple juice to her room, take out her stash of 40 Midol, and take every last one.
I tried to take a nap, hoping I’d never wake up, just sleep through the dying process. But god, it was impossible to sleep. I walked around for a few hours, writing down everything that happened in a Microsoft journal. I figured my parents would find it, I guess, and would know what had happened.
When my dad got home about an hour later, I lied. I f***ing lied. I was puking blood into our toilet and he heard me through the door. He asked me if I was ok. I laughed it off, I told him I had no clue why I was puking, but that I was probably fine. I wasn’t scared yet. I convinced myself it wasn’t working yet, that it was all in my head.
Then my mom came home. I told her what I’d done, because now it was starting to take serious effect, andÂ I was scared. (Later though, I’d hate myself for being a wimp and tattling on myself.) Â I trusted my mom more than Id ever done my dad. When I told my mom, she had my dad come out and yell at me while she finished putting away the groceries and called poison control. They said take me to the hospital.
When we wentÂ to theÂ hospital, I had to look up. Usually I look at my feet when I walk, but the pattern on the carpet made me dizzier than I already was, and I forced myself to look ahead of me.
I was hospitalized from 4pm on June 13th to 3pm on June 15th.
I went to two hospitals – I had to be sent to the second one because the first wasn’t a children’s hospital. Usually, I would’ve complained about being classified as a child when I was 14, but I figured now wasn’t the time. I spent several hours at the first hopsital, and two days at the second. I don’t remember most of the first hospital, I was nearly unconscious. But I remember plenty about the other one:
Puking up the liquid charcoal they’d made me drink, diahrea, hot and cold flashes,Â medication stinging as itÂ was pumped through my veins, nightmares about my friends dying, awful tv channels, and a constant loneliness.
Everyone asked me if I regretted it, if I’d learned my lesson. I said I did, because at first, I did!
The lesson’s worn off….