Confessions

Back in February I chased a handful of pills with a bottle of rum.  There, I said it.  I wasn't trying to kill myself; I was trying to hurt myself tho, but with good reason.  I wanted a break. I needed a pass for a few days from all the drama I was going through, and to be able to rest without guilt or pressure.  I wanted people to feel sad for me; to look at me and realize how bad I was hurting.  I wanted to be coddled, taken care of.  I was tired of being the one with the responsibilities, the stress, the gray hair at 32. I wanted to escape my bullshit life.  I wanted my idiot ex boyfriend to feel like shit for what he did, because it was a contributing factor to my act.  I wanted him to look down at me, all small and weak in the hospital bed, and cry and pledge himself to me and tell me how sorry he was and to never do something like this again.  For the record, he did cry, while calling me a fucking idiot.  I guess I was.  I wanted to be deemed unfit to live for a while.  I thought 3 Vicodin, 4 Valiums, and a handful of blood thinners chased with a half bottle of Malibu would hand me what I wanted.  Instead all I got was tired...and stone drunk.  The only thing I was unfit to do was send a text message.
  Desperation brings out the crazy in you.  I wish I could say that I look back on this and shake my head at how stupid I was, but I can't.  Even now, when I have a clear head, I can still understand why I did it, and don't regret it.  While I'm glad I didn't land in the hospital, or worse, I still wish I would have been taken more seriously than I was.  Instead I was handed a box and told to finish packing.  Life, no matter how much you hate it, doesn't stop when things are shitty, and a handful of prescription drugs didn't change that for me either. I don't miss that feeling tho-being so deseperate for a break that I'd risk my life to get one.  I should have sought help, but I didn't.  Misery loves company.  I wanted to wallow in it.  When you've been kicked to the ground as much as I was, you just decide to stay down after a while, and maybe help it along with booze and pills.  Like I said, desperation makes you crazy.  It also makes you selfish.  Taking myself out of the picture wouldn't have helped anyone but me.  What I failed to do was think about the impact it would have on everyone else...besides my asshole ex.  As sick as it was, I considered it as a punishmen of sorts for him.  For all the times he destroyed me as a woman and as a human being with his selfishness, I decided that taking myself from him permanently would hurt him more than he could ever hurt me, and that made me feel...better.  More resolved in my decision.  It was all the justification I needed. 
  Everyone has demons.  Sometimes mine show up, and they do their damndest to pull me under.  My mind is different now: stronger, clearer.  I know when I can't hack it, its time to ask for help.  And to lock up the booze and pills, of course.