I'm thinking of killing myself.

     "I'm in a lot of trouble. The drugs got me bad. I'm thinking of killing myself. Will you come and help me?" Is the first contact I have with my brother in just about a year. He is unaware that I have actually attempted to end my life several hours ago and failed. Sending that text was a torturous endeavor, I was shaking uncontrollably, fighting off a panic attack that was trying to consume me and overwhelmed by emotions I was unable to identify. The people around me are also addicts, but unlike me they have been having a great time so far and are okay with their drug use. In fact they are looking to score some more and in a sick and sad way I wish I was more like them. Instead I look at them in awe trying to figure out why I struggle so badly and they do not. I also contemplate what makes me hate myself for being a drug addict and why that is not enough for me to stop. My thoughts go back to my phone terrified that my brother will not respond to my text. What am I going to do? As I hold back tears that will not be denied their due a drug buddy asks me if I'm doing okay, I lie and take a hit of the crack pipe that is being held out in front of me. I look at my phone once again. It is on silent and also has the vibrate deactivated because I do not want to make my anxiety any worse by having the phone ring or vibrate unexpectedly, still no response. Maybe I should try again, but this time swallow a lot more rocks of cocaine and pain killers. I loose myself in thought of how am I going to do this because the relief and sadness of having made the decision the night before is not present with my current thoughts. In fact I am scared of myself for the first time in my life. I actually tried to kill myself with the appropriate letters to all the right and important people in my life! Then I receive the text I was not sure would come, "Yes, where are you?" Now, I am terrified!

     I am standing outside the drug house I was held up in for a few days and wait for my brother to pick me up. I have not bathed in a few days and I am trying to look some what decent and normal. My hair is tousled and oily so I brush my fingers through it to make it a bit more presentable. My cloths are no better since I have had them on for about a week. I am trying to monitor my behavior, but I do not even know what to do to behave like a normal person at this point. So I text my brother one more time telling him, "Don't freak out when you see me. I look very thin and I may act weird." Then I realize that I am in a very bad part of town and all I can think is "hurry up, hurry up, fuck!!!! hurry up" because I am loosing the battle with the panic attack which has been whispering in my ear, but wants to begin shouting. I have been going at my addiction for 10 days with power naps between stocking up on my party favors. When I started with a purchase of $200 worth of cocaine I did not consider the idea of consequences which ended up with me depleting my checking and savings accounts of approximately $4000, smoking and learning how to cook crack cocaine for the first time, lose my job after given a second chance within the same 10 day period, being kicked out of my place, loose a 16 year friendship, having another "friend" steal my car as well as several hundred dollars from my bank account, he is also an addict and resourceful to boot. So needless to say I am at the breaking point physically, emotionally and psychologically.


     When I see my brother approching relief takes a form of a deep resounding breath, but as I open the door and sit in the back seat shame and humiliation take root and I am brought back to my present situation, clueless desperation. "I wish I were dead" is a sincere thought that crosses my mind and I am in need of something to take away these feeling I want no part of. After driving for several minutes which felt like waiting for your parents to come and spank you for the troubles you caused. My brother breaks the still thick silence by asking me what I want to do. What I really want him to do is take over and take me to his home and take care of me and make it all go away. If he could take every memory, feeling, thought and desires out and replace them with plain old calm everything would  be fine. Instead I tell him to take me to our mothers home and shame reaches a new level within. He tells me he would take me to his home, but he is not trained to help me in the way I need it and I know he is right. I also am aware that I am fucked, I genuinely and wholeheartedly wish I had died. I do not want to go to my mothers who does not need to be dealing with me in this condition as well. Nor do I want to go to the hospital once again or go to rehab for an additional round of humming chatter about my disease and how I need to express my feelings. As I sit in the back seat empathizing for myself my brother suggest I eat something, so he buys me a number three at McDonald's. It is best and most nutritious meal I have had in over a week. The fact is I have lost 20lbs and weight 145 pounds and look like the AIDS patient I will eventually become. Twenty pounds does not sound like much, but you add it up with the weight I have lost due to other health issues and compound that with the drug use over the years I look quite frightening. I am sure I will die soon and have been saying so since 1997, but time keeps proving me wrong so far. If I do not figure this out soon that prediction will come to pass.


     My first panic attack sets in and my brother makes the executive decision to go to the emergency room. My reaction is violent, I cry uncontrollably as I grasp at the rolled up window to steady myself. I mumble repeatedly that, "I don't want to go. I don't think I can do it. Please don't make me go, please, please...." I know I have no choice in the matter. I continue the mantra until we arrive at the hospital and I know that I am going to have to go in and that I need to try to get myself together because people will be watching, it is a seemingly impossible task. As I approach the nurses station I realize I am going to have to say "out loud" what I have tried to do to myself and in front of my brother. Again, I really need something to take away these feelings. It is one thing to think something or even do it, but when you voice it in front of others it becomes real and you have no choice but to own it. In owning it one has to own everything that comes with it and I am not ready to do that. I can not even wrap my brain around it quite just yet. Then to say it with my brother present is almost enough for me to bolt, but i do not.


     I stand in front of the nurse with my brother by my side and just unable to speak, my voice has flat lined. Finally, in a voice barley audible I tell her, "I tried hurting myself and I am coming down off a ten day run." I say these words looking down at my trembling hands incapable of looking at anyone, I am empty of any confidence, pride, or integrity. I just could not utter the word suicide. If I had said those words I am sure I would have freaked out and lost it. Now she wants to know what drugs I have been using and this question takes me off guard because I was so preoccupied with the attempted suicide I did not pay any thought to listing my drugs of choice. I'm a trash can junky so really I do not have any choice once I start. All anyone has to do is put it in front of me and I will ingest it by any means then ask questions later. My family is not really aware of how bad things have gotten or so I think. Frankly, I do not think I am completely aware of how bad it truly has gotten. It is much easier for other to see because their perspective is more honest. I know it is bad, but I do not think I really have a grasp that I am a drug addict, at least not in its purest meaning. I start with the expected and work my way up to the hard stuff, "alcohol, pot, powder cocaine, crack and crystal meth." As I tell her each drug my emotions start to kick in, my voice becomes quieter as I say each drug and another panic attack ensues. I have to be taken to the empty hallway and talked down before they can finish checking me in and take me to the back. As I gain what little composure I can I look over at my brother and we have this conversation solely by facial expressions and body language. I can see he is stunned by my admissions, but works very hard to maintain his composure. If ever I needed something to take away these feelings this would be the moment because I am feeling each and every one. Then we speak and to my surprise he makes me laugh at the craziness of it all. It provides me with enough courage to walk back in and get checked in and put in a bed. For one of the few times in my life it really is about me, unfortunately it has a devastating impact on those who love me. Soon after I find myself in a room in the back having one panic attack after another sobbing uncontrollably. I exhausted of trying to fight off all the emotions that are trying to over run me and I finally just let go and completely allow things to take its course. I am given Ativan and I am out.


     So it begins?