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Depression and Mania create such unstable environments it's easy to loose yourself in madness.

Depression and Mania create such unstable environments it’s easy to loose yourself in madness.

I don’t really know at what point I came to fully.  I remember being in the back of the ambulance, vaguely aware of someone handing me, trying to force me to drink charcoal.  She was trying to explain to me why they needed to make sure that what ever pills I took could be counteracted as quickly as possible.  My first semi-lucid thought formed around the complete absurdity’s that I didn’t know what she was talking about.  Why she was talking to me like I was 5 years old was beyond me.  But somehow I didn’t know exactly how old I was, at least 21.

 Feelings of loneliness crashed over me like waves, while sorrow and regret threatened to pull me under.

 I sat up and tried to grab the thick, black shake from her.  As my hands slid around the Styrofoam cup, she pulled it away from me, pushing me back onto the gurney.  Completely in sensed, I tried to right myself and found that I lacked the necessary coordination to hold still at that angle while the ambulance drove.  I calmed down, and she let me hold the charcoal if I promised to drink the whole thing.

 I could feel the slow pull of what ever I had taken, 11 muscle relaxers and some 222’s chased down with the vodka left from my Saturday night fiasco.  It was the sanest thing I felt I had done for a while.  There was not a single doubt that I should do this.  I had lost the first man I’d ever loved, second really if you count my high school sweet heart.  My husband was chasing after fugly women and those barely legal, none of which were as good as me, or maybe they were all better in some way in which I had fallen short.

 Feelings of loneliness crashed over me like waves, while sorrow and regret threatened to pull me under.  Drowning in a sea of confusion I tried to give my life purpose.  Maybe it was only my engorged appetite for sex which kept drawing me into these illicit affairs and tempestuous situations which only ended in a sea of fire and brim stone with my head on the block.

 I had always tried to do the right thing.  I was a good child, pleasant, smart.  How could life go so wrong?  How could I swallow the pills so easily?  They went down so easily, they didn’t even get upset by the Absolute I chased them down with.  The next step could be easier, but I had to make sure that everything was right.  I didn’t want the lights on, so candles would have to illuminate the bathroom, that way I could still see.  And that dog, I mean my beautiful border collie, has to get out from under foot.  She looks at me with big eyes and a nervous stare.  Locking her out of the bathroom is the only way, my only way.  Someone should be buy in the next few days, they’ll get her.

 I lit the candles and poured the bath.  For comfort I grabbed my bible.  Maybe I won’t go to heaven, but I don’t really deserve to anyway, heaven is for the better people, for the good people, and clearly that isn’t me.  If I were good, then why did I do such sinful, horrible things?  He was my salvation, he knew what I was and he loved me, he loved me, and I betrayed him.  How could he not see how much I loved him, that this was all because I loved him!

How could life go so wrong?

 The side of the blade felt sharp, a mans razor for shaving his masculine face.  I could still see the shaved hairs all over his bathroom counter and flowing into his sink the first time I went over, one of the first times we went out.  He was so cute with his freshly shaven face, smiling at me with those eyes of his.  And now I sat in a tub full of water with a clean blade in my hand intent on opening the veins in my wrists.  To live one more day like this, or worse, to heal and face this point in the path again was unbearable.

 The first cut was harder then I thought it would be.  I marked it out in my head and went over the motions several times to get it right.  It should have been a long deep straight cut from wrist to mid-way up my arm.  The searing sting cut through me, into my chest, gripping it hard.  I wasn’t prepared for the kind of pain.  Hanging onto my resolve, I gained control over my pain, switching the blade to the other had for another try.  I was unprepared for the sting of the first cut to render that hand quite useless.  The drugs were kicking in.

 Now I started with the minor cuts, just to feel the pain, on my inner thigh.  If I could just hack through my fat thighs with a razor, hack them off.  Blood was streaming from my arms and I was falling asleep.  I grabbed the bible, Psalms I think it was.  I tried to read in the flickering light.  Boy, was I gonna be pissed if I woke up in the morning.   Praying I wouldn’t wake up in the morning, that I would just die, I drifted off.

 Something beyond got my attention.  In a hazing self awareness I felt cold.  My husband and his 18 yr old girlfriend, shes holding my hand as he’s on the phone, the dog is sitting next to her, head hanging over the side of the tub.  The someone is lifting me up, his rubber gloves sticking against my damp body.  Somebody must have help me dress and put me in the ambulance, because I can’t remember.  Consciousness crashes in and out like waves on my story life.