"Lord save my baby," I remember this voice. It echoes through my head like a gunshot. Then it goes faster and faster ringing through my ears. I feel as if my head has been split open. I do not remember how I got here. I don't mean how I got to the hospital with tubes running from my arms to fluid filled baggies, the doctors and nurses have made it clear to me how I got here, but to how I got to this place, the place inside my head where everything is murky and dark like the ocean water right before a wave churning storm. Lord save me. I am a good kid, I have hopes and dreams and all of that. And then I had none of that. Accidental overdose, that's what I tell the doctors, that I didn't mean to, but they know I'm lying. And they don't care. They don't care! They don't care? How can they not care? I did this to myself, I think, Oh Lord, I did this to myself.
Fighting my way through the choking fog I remember. I remember the feeling and the little blue pills that were supposed to make it better. Then I remember nothing, it slips away like water through my open fingers. Every day I struggle to remember who I am. I am too weak! The choking feelings will come and swallow me up again and I will be washed away, scattered nothingness.
No, no, noooooooooooo! I scream, long and hard because I remember I am no good. I don't deserve this, the love and the happiness. Give it to someone worthy of these emotions. I remember the little blue pills in the pocket of my jeans. I run to the chair that they are flung over. Ripping the seams as I jam my hand inside searching for my salvation, the nurse runs in telling me that those pills are not what I need, telling me the pills are gone. Then everything fades at the edges. She cries telling me how sorry she is but this is what I need. And then I am gone.
I don't remember when I woke up. Really I try hard to forget those memories. For me they encompass everything dark and terrible. I want to know how this happened, how could I do this to myself. I think it's because I was a weak person but the therapist says it's because in my mind I was no good, I thought I deserved to be tormented by myself. I try to forget but the scars of where the blade cut and the dots where the needle punctured are reminders, but the deepest scar lies within, a scar that covers my heart and at the drop of the hat chokes my heart and tears it to pieces. That is when I can't breathe and I double over ashamed with myself. I am stronger now. I will never forget. The Lord has saved me.