me and a suicide attempt (02)

this one actually occurred about a year before the one i posted about previously.

this is probably the hardest entry i have written so far.

it still hurts me.

it’s amazing that when i remember that night now, the biggest thing that stands out to me is just how normal of an evening it was. at the time, i was living with my brother and father in an apartment near the galleria. i had been working an evening shift at the hospital and my daily routine had gone something like, wake, work, drink/write, sleep. i would stop most every night on my way home, grab some beer, and write for a few hours before bed. i had been having a lot of trouble sleeping previously, so my doctor had prescribed me Ambien.

(i’ll talk about my history with Ambien in an upcoming post. for this, just know i had been on it for a few months and i was horribly irresponsible with it.)

i know you aren’t supposed to mix ambien and alcohol. i know this. i knew it then. but i didn’t care. i would usually start writing and drinking around eight at night. around ten i would take my ambien. my dose was 2.5 mg (half a pill) or if i absolutely needed it, i could take 5 mg (entire pill.) by then i had built up a fairly ridiculous tolerance, so after drinking for a couple of hours i would usually take 7.5 mg (pill and a half) or 10 mg (two goddamn pills) just to be sure . the result could have been funny if it hadn’t been so sad. doing this would cause me to pass out immediately when it kicked in–which could be anywhere from 15 minutes to an hour. so no matter what i was doing, i would just pass the fuck out. hard. i would fall asleep in mid-sentence while talking. i fell asleep taking a piss one night. often, i would pass out while writing and wake up with my cigarette burning a hole in the crotch of my pants. i ended up throwing away a lot of pants during that time. and i did this routine for months.

and one night i just took it too far. it wasn’t accidental at all, as i do recall making the choice.  but i started off with my usual dose. i was swaying. i was on the floor of my bedroom and was writing. notes and poems. very nonsensical. think i mentioned kerouac and jerry springer and at some point i called *****. she was a friend of mine from school (i was also taking classes at HCC at the time.) she lived out in katy.

this next part is what little i personally remember and what she told me happened. i called her. we spoke for a bit. chit-chat. i sounded bad, she said. i told her i was fine. i was just drunk. she was used to my drunk calls. she asked me if i needed her to come over. i told her no. thank you. i was fine. i hung up. i ate a lot of ambien. i think it ended up being between 25-30 pills. i had just filled my prescription that day or the day before. they were small, easy to swallow. plus i had booze. i don’t know how much i had drank at that point. my mind was so fucking calm. i didn’t feel sick at all. they might as well have been candy. it was beautiful. that’s the last thing i remember feeling until i woke up.

she told me that after we got off the phone she couldn’t shake her worry. she tried to call me, and i didn’t answer. she got dressed and drove in from katy. she got into the apartment (dad and brother were gone) and found me on the couch. i was sleeping. she checked to make sure i was breathing. i was. she figured i had passed out drunk and was sleeping it off. she left. she made it half-way back to katy and turned back around. she said something didn’t feel right. she got back to my apartment and tried to wake me. i wouldn’t wake up. she somehow got me into her car and drove me to the emergency room. i don’t know if she had found my bottle of pills. i think she did. she got me to the e.r. just in time, apparently. it was so close. and they were able to save my life.

and when i woke and they explained to me just how close i had been…

i was so mad at her. so so fucking upset. i was such an asshole. she quite literally saved my life. if she hadn’t turned back around i would have died. i don’t know what it was that made her do that (she does) but it wasn’t any obvious thing. when she saw me the first time, i was just sleeping. if she had just accepted that…

her and i never dated, although it had been talked about. but we had been good friends. she was awesome. and after that night, i just couldn’t forgive her. i know it sounds so stupid to anyone else. i wasn’t outwardly mean or anything, but i know that i made decisions about our friendship based on that nagging little fucker in my head that kept reminding me that she had completely fucked me over. we don’t talk anymore, but four years ago or so i called her. i told her how sorry i was for letting that shit get in the way of our friendship. i told her i understand why she did it. i told her that she was wonderful.

and i thanked her for saving my life.

and we cried together.

i wish it could have been different. i wish i had been different. i wish i could have been grateful. i wish i could have explained to her at the time how i felt. i wish a lot of things. but i still wish i would have died that night. but that isn’t her fault.

i’m sorry. i’m so sorry. you will probably never read this, but if you do…

i’ll never forget it.

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~ by alltheavenueslookugly on 2011/11/08.

2 Responses to “me and a suicide attempt (02)”

  1. Thanks for writing, Sean.

  2. Thank you for sharing. I get it.

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