I died on Friday. I drove fast, crashed through the guardrails, flew over the edge, went through the window, hit the ground below and my truck flipped on top of me. Atleast that was the plan. I felt crazy that night, like my last bit of patience with myself twanged and snapped. I couldn't stop screaming, I could barely see past the tears and the hopelessness seeping out of me could have drowned a million rats. I don't want to talk about why just yet; I'm not ready for that.
Although there must have been something sane, a fine thread holding me back. I wanted help, part of me wasn't ready to die. I called for help, scared the bejesus out of a woman working dispatch who couldn't find a crisis line quick enough. I told her to send the police because I couldn't drive without crashing. What are the odds, the one night that I remain sober and I try to commit suicide. It took them half an hour to get there... I couldn't stop thinking, they could be picking up my remains with the time it took them to get here. Would it hurt them to know that they were too late to save a life? Whats the difference for them between driving a suicidal to the hospital or cleaning up a car crash? More paperwork for the car crash I suppose. When they pulled up I started crying hysterically again - I was so scared. They had their top lights pointed right at me, like a criminal. I didn't want Mary to stop talking to me on the phone; I wanted her to tell them to go away. I knew I had to say goodbye to her and face them. I couldn't even look up. They were timid around me, but very cop-ish. They were worried everything they said would make me snap, but I suppose they didn't realize how much they scared me. By the time they moved my truck onto a side road and I was in the back of the cop car, I was exhausted and confused. I didn't know what would happen in a situation like this. How do you fix a suicidal? Its not like rewiring me in an hour. The police officers kept joking among themselves in the front, unconcerned. They must deal with this a lot. They put me in a room right in front of the front desk, so they could watch me. By that time, I had texted my sister to tell her what happened and that I'd talk to her tomorrow, then I shut off my dying phone. Fortunately, when by the time I had sat down on my hospital bed, she was on the phone with the front desk. She was going to drive out right away, it was about 4 a.m. Knowing that made me feel safer, and much happier but it seemed like forever waiting. I talked to a nurse, I talked to a doctor, I talked the cops, I talked to bloody well everyone and they all asked the same questions. After a while the answers come out in a monotone voice. I felt numb sitting there, staring into space. I either couldn't think or I was trying to decide what sticking my tongue in an outlet would do. Boy did I regret the girls picking that Friday as dress night. It would have been nice to be wearing sweats. My sister was there when I woke up. I've never felt so happy all at once. But like she said, she can't be there all the time and she shouldn't have to be. They told me I need to stop drinking and that I can get help for that. They gave me a crisis line to call at any time. They said I just need to make it till the 30th when my first psych appointment was. I was happy all Saturday, then I was down most of Sunday. I'm up and down again today. I'm either thinking about how great it would be to have a dog, or I'm thinking of ways to kill myself. I have a hard time not letting it sneak into conversations. People seem to find it weird when you randomly start talking about drowing yourself. I can't help it. I dont know how to stop it. I feel like things are going to get better and then at times I feel like no matter what I do, I keep sinking. I don't know the answers and I never understood the point of writing unless you could answer your own questions. Which makes writing pointless to me I suppose, but it also feels like everything in my head can't be contained any longer and it needs to go somewhere.