The Facts
On November 6th, 2000, at around 10:00 A.M., I took 48 sleeping pills, and lay down for a little nap. By roughly 11:30 A.M. that same day, I was clinically dead.
The Background
I had gone to California from Texas to be with someone who said they loved me. I gave up my job, my family, and my life here for her. Having had a string of bad relationships, this one felt good, and felt right. It was the first time my feelings would lead me astray. The first month was bliss. Affectionate, trusting, trustworthy, fun, loving, she was nearly perfect. After a month or so, she began to change. It started with intimacy, and eventually she cut out all affection, all fun, all love. She became a horrible person. Apparently, this was the real her. I never saw it coming. She treated me horribly. She would never leave the computer. She began to become paranoid about things and each time I walked into the room, she'd shutdown her comp or close windows. Later, I discovered she was cybering another. "But it means nothing." Yeah, famous cheater's words. She got offended that I had gone through her files to find these chats. More famous cheater's remarks. After nearly two months of lies, deceit, and misery, we broke up "officially". She then declared that she'd "fallen" for someone on the internet two weeks before we broke up. Two weeks, and she never told me. Using me for rent? My previous girlfriend had physically cheated on me, and others had always found someone "better". It was the last draw.
The Reasons
I could justify it with so much. My family on my mother's side, with whom I grew up, became a nest of racist, backstabbing vipers after my sister started dating a black guy. Never mind he was the best boyfriend she'd ever had and one of my best friends. She was not invited to Christmas or holidays. And so her sibs all boycotted it too. It was the first Christmas I'd missed in my life. My mother sees her children as a means of support. Once you live there, she'll take all of your money so you're stuck and constant fighting is common. My father controls whoever lives with him. Beyond normal, into your private life and work life as well. My grandparents on his side were dead, and my Aunt and Uncle were always in and out of hospitals. I had nowhere to go. But basically I was just tired of being hurt. Tired of the pain. How little I knew.
The Experience
As a poet, I'm generally never caught without words to describe something. But how do you describe the pain and torture of death? My girlfriend came home over five hours earlier than she was supposed to and found me in bed asleep. She could not revive me, though I could hear everything, I couldn't move. Her screaming voice rings to this day. Paramedics attempted a lot of things... Each one more painful than the last. How do you describe this? Imagine, you cannot flex your muscles, you cannot scream, you cannot even wince.... but they can torture you and you can feel everything. I remember the stretcher. I remember being in the ambulance. I remember my lungs and heart stopping. I remember feeling sad, yet satisfied that no one could hurt me anymore. Can you imagine feeling your heart stop? Struggling for air through lungs that can't work? Imagine holding your breath, then someone closing your lungs so you cannot even attempt to draw breath. I died. Ever hear your own flat line?
The End
I woke up in a hospital bed. They did not know I was awake. And the real torture began. A large tube was roughly shoved into my throat and into my stomach. They pumped in charcoal, which apparently absorbs toxins. They shoved another tube up my nose all the way INTO my lungs... And I felt every inch. Yet another tube was roughly and very painfully shoved up my penis. This one hurt for a week afterwards, no kidding. I felt every IV prick. I could not scream, I could not move, I could not even flex a muscle in basic response to pain.... terrible pain. I felt them beat on my chest, and I felt them poke holes into my arms and hands.
I woke up again strapped down to the bed. My biceps and abs were all pulled. Apparently I'd put up a fight and didn't know it. The nurse wouldn't unstrap me even when I was wide-awake. Hours of being tied down, not even able to scratch your nose. That was terrible. Eventually I started screaming to be set free. They did. I found that pulling out all those tubes was more painful then putting them in. But at least I could flex, wince, or yelp. Pain. Pain is supposed to remind you you're alive. But pain only reminded me that I was not dead. I hate pain.
The Aftermath
I was put in a 23-hour house dressed in scrubs and booties as I'd gone in only in underwear. (I have absolutely no modesty anymore, knowing that dozens saw me entirely naked, LOL) She took all the money from my wallet, added a few bucks of her own, and bought a bus ticket FOR THE SAME DAY I GOT OUT to go back home. Wonderful person non? Our first fight was that I needed a couple of days to find a home to go back to, and that I wanted to say goodbye to some friends I'd made, including her son. She said I could not stay there, and so I went to spend my first night alive at a bus station. Wonderful girl. I went back before they stopped running and, crying in her doorway, she broke down. She said she was worried and yes, I could stay here. For two days things were back to what they were at first. But there was no going back. I packed and left on November 9th. I flew (she'd lost the bus ticket). Now I live with my father in Texas again. I am doing a lot of things differently. I go to clubs now, never used to. I recontacted old friends. I am trying to make it. And I come here to chat. I held a job briefly but they let me go as seasonal within a week. I hope to get another soon. I guess lessons and morals are supposed to follow. I thought death would stop all the pain. But it only made things worse. There was no tunnel, no light, just darkness. Does that mean I would have gone to hell? Of course, I'm Catholic and we condemn suicides. The Bard in hell. Do you think Satan was frightened? LOL One thing I know. I am still capable of love. Even death could not take that away, though I almost did myself. Only you can truly destroy your own emotions. There are those who are dead and yet walk. They died because they stopped wanting to feel. I am back. And I truly believe that death hurt a hell of a lot more than life ever did. I felt that life wasn't worth living.... I learned how wrong I am the first day with my brother and sisters. There was a reason to live.
Many are worth dying for, few, if any, are truly worth living for.
Finding those is the true reason for living.
But of course, I'm an idiot.
The Bard/Masterpoet/Chris