It was a bitch of a Minnesota, winter night. The thermometer outside, from what I could see, through the frosted over window on the front door, pointed to zero. As if the temperature alone wasn’t enough, the wind was howling. Creating snowy tornadoes, whipping across the front yard.
The cold tiles of the entryway, sent a shiver through my entire being, from the bottoms of my sensitive, bare feet. A particularly strong gust of wind came to the front door, blowing through the weather-stripping, putting goosebumps on my naked arms and legs. Needless to say, as I stood there in boxers and a t-shirt, I was underdressed for the weather. I turned away from the door, and lumbered my way up to my room, for the rest of the night.
I laid on my bed, hands behind my head, and wallowed in my miserable existence. It was a Saturday night, and I was home all alone. My mom and dad were out on a date, and my sister was out with a group of friends, no doubt, having fun. I was probably one of the only kids from my school, who was not out with friends, having fun. I created this situation for myself last night, when Kayla and I, had a nasty old fight.
I guess I was probably feeling sorry for myself, and pissed off at the world. Not a good combination, when you have a guest coming over.
Things were fine at first, but she could tell something was going on with me. It reached a point where I thought she was getting too personal, and I lashed out at her. It ended when I asked her what the point was in us pretending to be going out, when she’d be gone forever, in just three more weeks. And if that wasn’t enough, I called her a coward, for not telling me what was going on. She called me a fucker, among other things, and stormed out with “goodbye. I hate you.” Not one of my finer moments.
From the moment she stormed out, things continued to spiral down for me. I was a whirlwind of emotions. The adrenalin sparked a rage. Who needed her anyway? I was happy she was gone. Screw her. What does she know?
Once that rage wore off, a fatigue took over. Consumed my whole body, brain and all. I couldn’t decide if it really happened, or if I had made it all up.
It didn’t take long for the regret, and feeling of loss to take over. I hated myself for what I said, and what I’d done. It seemed like for the last couple of months, I had fallen into this pattern of regret. Acting on stupid impulse, without thinking of the consequences. If not for the tolerance and understanding of the few close friends I have, I would have been kicked to the curb long ago. But this time I really did it. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. I went too far, and Kayla would not forgive me.
I continued to stare at the ceiling, in my own vat of self-pity, wrestling with my self-hate. Why was my life so complicated? Did I manufacture all this myself? Is there something seriously wrong with me? There has to be. How can I continue to fuck everything up, over and over? My father can see it. He always has. That’s why he hates me. He knows things that others don’t see. He’s a smart man.
I started to think about what would happen if I just disappeared. Got up and left. Not tell anyone, and just get up and go. What would people think? My mom and sister would be sad, for a while. My dad would pretend to care, but he and I know the truth. School? They wouldn’t even notice. Kayla? She’ll be gone soon, so why would she care? Mark? I can honestly say, I don’t know. I just don’t know with him.
But why run? Where would I go? It would be very difficult to start a new life somewhere, at my age. I’m too young to get a job or rent an apartment. Nothing would be easy at all. In fact, it’d be a nightmare. Running away, is not a good option.
How about suicide? This life would hurt a lot less, if it didn’t exist at all. How would I do it? Slit wrist? Too painful, and too much of a mess. Hanging? That sounds painful too, and what if it took a long time? Drowning? I just don’t think I could go through with it. I guess in my sleep would probably be best. Just go to sleep, and not wake up. Peaceful and painless. Overdose on something and wait for death to take me.
I tried to shake off my thoughts of suicide, and replace them with something else. I became obsessed with it, to the point that I was visualizing the process. I laid there and thought about it for what seemed like hours, my own mind telling me this was the only solution to my problems. I fell so low. Lower than I’d ever sunk before.
My own body betrayed me, as I found myself walking back downstairs, and into my patents bedroom. I walked into their bathroom, and opened a drawer, filled with various bottles of pills. I found an unopened bottle of Motrin. Fifty tablets. That should do the trick. I walked into the kitchen and pouted myself a tall glass of water, and went back up to my room, water and tablets in hand. I set them on my nightstand, and crawled back onto my bed. I removed the pills from their box, popped open the lid, and punctured the seal. Before I gave myself a chance to change my mind, I dumped about half of the pills into my mouth, and chased them down, with a big drink of water. I repeated the process a second time, finishing the contents of the bottle.
It was a struggle to keep them down. Maybe I should have taken them slower, less at a time. My gag reflex was working very hard to cough up the poison I put into my body. My stomach burned, but I managed to hold everything down. I curled up into a tight ball, sweating from every pore in my body. A steady stream of tears flowed down my cheeks, as I realized I would leave this life, with yet another regret. It’s not that I could think of a particular reason to live. I just couldn’t think of a particular reason not to live either.
Eventually I passed out from something. I could feel my body shutting down. I glanced over at the digital display on my clock. 10:43. I closed my eyes.
The next thing I remembered was the sound of muffled, panicked voices. Female. My mother, I think. I was moving, but not of my own freewill. I was wrenching, vomiting. So much pain. Upside down. Carried. All the while, still hearing those frantic voices and cries. I remember a sudden blast of coldness, as I fell back asleep, to the sound of a ding, then a hum.
End of book one