Time to Collect.

Last night I thought of seizures.

I realized I haven't written of my most recent collapse.

Considering I hope it to be my last I should probably capture the feelings before they slip away.

It is, however, rather unpleasant to revisit.

On most levels.

On others there's a strange pleasure gained through reveling in the despair.

I can't quite recall what drove me to it.

Probably nothing.

Or rather the summation of many seemingly inconsequential events.

Whatever the driving force the destination was the hospital. 

Or was it?

I haven't quite decided if it was a passive attempt.

If I knew I doubt I'd admit it to myself.

I emptied the bottles.

I filled my stomach.

I waited.

I sent a manipulative message.

I ignored his response.

All 12 of them.

And then I told him everything was fine, I loved him, and that I would talk to him tomorrow.

I lied.

Straight through my crooked teeth.

I told myself it was justified.
That if I died he'd be left with clear conscience.
But I knew that wasn't true.
My death would mar him for life.

Selfish.

I ignored the calls of my father.
I told myself it was justified.
That if I died he'd be left with clear conscience.
But I knew that wasn't true.
My death would mar him for life.

Hateful.

I told my mother she'd regret everything in the morning.
I told myself it was justified.
If she saved me she'd be left with clear conscience.
But I knew that wasn't true.
My antics have weakened her for life.

Regretful.


Police officers arrived.
A man and a woman.

I was in my underpants.
I was in a button-up.
I was in my mother's bed.

Lady Cop was a bitch.
"My partner as a wife. He's got two toddlers at home.
He doesn't need to see an eighteen year-old in her underwear."
The shame had run it's course by then.
Anger moved in to take it's place.

Shame is not an effective vehicle for change when dealing with a suicidal person.
The callous Lady Cop had disdain in her eyes.
In her voice.
In her stance.
Her presence was toxic.
She spouted of respect, though she had shown me none.
I moved toward the bureau to clothe myself.

She grabbed me.
I did not know I needed authorization to move less than two feet in my own home.
She pulled.
I pulled.

She called for backup.

Four officers.
Two paramedics.
Over pants.

I fought.
I fought hard.
I fought the officers.
I fought the emotions.
I fought the pain.

I inflicted pain.
Not only on the officers.
I inflicted pain on my mother.
She watched her youngest child, her baby, be taken to the ground.
She watched as I was handcuffed.
She watched as I struggled.
Demons personified.

I scratched through gloves.
I bit through clothes.
I writhed in pain but refused to surrender.

Haldol is threatened.
Injections are readied.
My mother is pleading.
I, am screaming.

They lift me.
They pull me.
I make it to the hallway.
Something snaps.

On the ground again.

Lady Cop is goading me.
Ginger Paramedic is goading me.
The carpet is goading me.
I am a wreck.

The Lady Cop is pushing for Haldol.
Ginger Paramedic gives me one more last chance.
A calm possesses me.
Inexplicably.

An officer pulls pants onto me.
I refuse the shoes.
Rebellious until the end.
Hurting no one but myself.

There's snow on the ground.
And Ice.
Hands cuffed behind me.
I dread falling.

The paramedics are kind.
I am cooperative.
I answer the questions.
What pills? How many?
They retrieve the bottles.
I am cuffed to the gurney.

I can sense their curiosity regarding my calm.

Taken from the presence of the woman who tried to shame me I am at peace.
I had overdosed.
Not only on pills. Not only on pain.
I had overdosed on shame.
My body rejected the massive amounts she had to offer.

I am at peace.

My family, however, was not.
My sister was witness to these events.
My mother was blamed for these events.
I'd inflicted irreparable damage.

But I was at peace.

I arrived at the hospital.
I was searched.
I was given a gown.
I still had my underpants.
They tucked me into bed.
No more handcuffs.

  I vaguely recall an E.K.G.
Then, nothing.

I awoke in a single room.
My leg was twitching.
Violently.

I saw it as though on a television screen.
My eyes wandered to the nurses desk outside my sliding door.
"Wow they need some attention." I thought,
"Why doesn't she just say something?"

A nurse came in.
"Nicole, you're having a seizure, I'm going to push Ativan  through your IV."
Then, nothing.

I awoke in a single room.
But I was not alone.
There were creatures.

Creatures made of shadows and malice that crept under the counters.
Controlling the webcam underneath the TV, they made it follow me.
Nod or shake in response to my unspoken questions.

I pushed the call button.
My nursemaid returned.
"You're hallucinating Nicole, it's just you and I in this room."

The shadows told me she lied.
But she was my angel.
They creatures were my demons.
I clung to her words.
Then, nothing.

I awoke in a single room.
A woman's face was inches from mine.
She told me her name.
I've forgotten it now.
She told me I had Serotonin Syndrome.
Seventy-two hour hold.
 Then, nothing.

The next few hours were filled with Shadow Creatures and
dreams heavily colored by the dramas unfolding on the television.

The next day I began using the commode.
It was then I discovered I was wearing mesh underpants.
I did not recall removing mine and was perturbed at the thought of
some faceless nurse undressing my near-lifeless form.
But that was not important.
Standing was.

My body was retaliating.
I was so very weak.

My mother called to check in on me.
Other than those calls I was alone.
For the first time no one came with me.

My father called.
I remember trying to dance around my being in Intensive Care.
As if he didn't know.

I was not myself.

That afternoon I was moved to another room.
It was a double.
I was to be there for a few hours until a psych bed opened up.
Being wheeled down the hall was exhausting.
I was so very weak.

After an uneventful and indeterminate amount of time I was transferred to Station 30.
An entirely different post all together.