The day I decided to die.
November 14, 2012
Everything sort of feels like a dream. There’s a strange man standing over my bed, asking me all sorts of questions and I’m trying my best to ignore him. He is, after all, in my bedroom while I’m trying to get some sleep. I hear some sort of crying in the background. A baby, I’m not quite sure. The next thing I know, my bed is moving and it’s freaking me out. Why the hell am I outside and could someone please shut up that goddamn baby!? I try to get, to no avail. What the hell is going on here? I’m being kidnapped in my dream and I can’t even wake up! This is by far one of the weirdest dreams I’ve ever had. I’m sure I’ll wake up soon.
Suddenly it feels like I’m being thrown into the back of a car. This dream is just getting stranger and stranger. The weird man that’s been standing over me then asks me a question. I can’t hear him all that well. He asks me again. Again I don’t respond. He starts shouting, “Viwe! What did you ingest and how much of it did you take?” I reply, “Zolpidem. Twenty of them.”
I realise then that this is not a dream. A feeling of disappointment washes over me. How on earth did I fail at this? It was supposed to be easy :Take the pills and never have to feel anything again. The baby is still crying, but it isn’t a baby. It’s my mother. I can hear the tears in her voice. What have I done to her? What have I done to my family? The happiness that was felt around the family for my sister’s birthday yesterday has all been shattered. How am I going to live with myself?
The sirens off the ambulance start blasting as they frantically try to keep me awake, alive. Am I sad or happy that I’m still alive? I can’t tell. I don’t know. The only that I do know is that this is going to be the longest ride of my mothers life.