The thing is, I was almost feeling good when I was out. I'd had a few drinks, enough to lubricate myself and start to slip away from that spot I always get into at times like these. I was smiling, I was talking, I was socializing. A bit more time outside smoking than I normally would take, but that's okay. We're not always spot on, we're not always playing well with others. And I was making an effort. I felt proud of myself.
While I hadn't let go of those things in my head, or the feelings, I was masking them okay, hiding them underneath everything and thinking I was doing great. Then someone got up to sing karaoke. Or rather, the next person in line for karaoke got up, and did their song.
I fell apart. I cried. I don't think anyone I was with noticed - they were too busy socializing, and talking with each other. But I cried. Luckily, having my hair up had driven me nuts earlier in the night, so it was down. And with long hair, when you lean forward, your face is easily shielded.
As soon as I heard the opening notes, I knew what the song was. My stomach churned, my mind went blank, and any light I had found in the evening dimmed out. It was "Hate Me", by Blue October. I knew it. There was a period of time, two months, where it was the only song I listened to. It was its own playlist, and whenever I controlled the music, it was the song that was playing.
This was when I was with my ex, M. He and I had a contentious relationship. By which I mean, he liked to beat the hell out of me and tear me down to nothing, making me feel small and worthless. And I let him, because that was the place I was in when it started. The sad thing is, I'm in the same mental state now as I was then. I just don't have to worry about anyone hitting me.
But I listened, and I cried, and I hated myself for it. I excused myself from the group as soon as I could, and went outside, to take some deep breaths and try to feel like something better.
It didn't work. It was over two hours ago, and my head is still in the same dark place it was, back in those days. All I feel is useless and worthless and pointless. To me, right now, there's no hope. The burden of friends caring is too much, far too much. It makes me feel like the only thing I am is a cause of concern for them, which I hate.
It's hard to explain. When you're at a dark point, and feel so down, knowing that people care should cheer you up and remind you there is something good. All it does for me is push me lower, because I don't share this stuff with people. All they see is the surface. And knowing they worry at that point is bad enough. Thinking of telling them what's actually happening, what's going through my head, what is below and beneath and pretty much completely surrounding me, terrifies me because I know how heavy it is to bear.
I've carried this cross for years, I've had it slung upon me for a long time, and it's always been a part of me. Something I can almost deal with but never quite manage to. To think of putting it onto someone else, asking them to see for themselves this point that I'm at, dragging them down with me into this grave I'm living in, is too much. Knowing they care is too much because if they care, they'll push to help. And to help they'll see what it's like. I can't take that.
Like I said, I've been here before. I essentially live here, it's just a matter of sometimes I'm able to look up and see a bit of light from my point. But I'm not right now. And I wasn't when I was with M, and when I was listening to Hate Me. The last time I listened to the song ... the last time I heard it at all ... was when it was playing on a loop as I took a bottle of painkillers and washed it down with bourbon, and laid down to die.
The apartment maintenance people were supposed to be coming by to fix a leaking faucet. I didn't know the request had been called in, or that they were coming. The guy came in to a girl passed out on the bed, barely breathing, a sad song on loop, an empty pill bottle and a half empty bottle of alcohol. He was smart. Either he was smart or he saw the note I'd left M, which just said that I was done, and sick of being broken. He called 911.
They took me to the hospital, in a screaming ambulance. I wavered in and out of consciousness. I died once in the ambulance, and they brought me back. I don't know how. All I know is I was screaming, or trying to, telling them to let me go and just let me stop. The hospital pumped my stomach and filled me full of fluids. I hadn't been eating for a few days prior to this. Then I fell asleep. I remember thinking as I fell asleep that maybe they were too late, and I would die.
I didn't. When I woke up at 5 am, they told me they were admitting me to a psychiatric hospital for a minimum of 72 hours because of my suicide attempt. I was still alive. I wouldn't be killing myself for a while, at least. I had responsibilities. I begged them to let me go to my work, and tell my work that I wouldn't be around for a while.
I don't know how I convinced them, but they did end up letting me. I drove to my employed, waited for the HR lady, broke down in tears. I was done, completely broken. I told her things had come up, I needed an absence for mental health reasons. I walked out and got back in the car, went to the psych hospital.
They didn't fix me there. They tried. But it just couldn't be done. I've lived my entire life in this pit, a few days wasn't going to change me. Besides, I've always been bright. I knew what they wanted to hear, wanted to see, so I gave it to them. The incident ended up getting written off as the result of a long argument with my boyfriend and my drinking. They let me out after 72 hours.
And I never heard that song. Never, not in the five years between then and now. But I heard it tonight, and all I could think, all I could feel, all that existed was that same lack of hope I had. And then it dawned on me - I had never gotten rid of that lack of hope. It's always been part of me, always. There's nothing I feel I can do about it. Sometimes I can cover it over and pretend it doesn't exist, sometimes I can almost ignore it. But it's always there.
That time with the song wasn't the first time, or the last, that I tried to end it. But it was the closest I ever came to escaping. I actually got free, I had a chance. I could have finally known peace. But it wasn't there.
And now, now I have the song echoing in my head. I can feel the music, hear it everywhere, see the patterns it makes. And I can taste the burn of the bourbon, and the soreness in my throat from too many pills. I can feel the pain of the stomach pump and at the same time, the disconnectedness from it all. I even taste the salt of the tears I cried.
And I'm sitting in the dark, and I'm looking at this grave I'm in, and all I can do is listen to the song.
No comments:
Post a Comment