the day i died

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
a night that changed me forever...

Submitted: April 09, 2016

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Submitted: April 09, 2016

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The Day I Died

I remember it like it was yesterday, a constant film on repeat in my head that keeps my mind awake at night and my heart racing. I died, I know I did. People are curious all the time about what happens when you die and each person has a different experience. You’re reading this confused thinking “oh if she died how is she writing this?” It’s not a typical story of dying, I’m talking about the kind of dying that is only shown on television shows such as Law and Order SVU or Criminal Minds. The kind of death that fucks with your mind for the rest of your life.

I was at a party, a house party to be specific, drinking have one hell of a time and the night had only just begun. I’m not gonna lie, I do dabble in the habit of THC, the Mary Jane, that favorite plant Shaggy from the Scooby Gang loved so much. Let’s be honest we all knew Shaggy was on a whole different level compared to everyone else in the Scooby Gang. Anyway back to my point, I was at a house party and I don’t know what happened exactly but either I was laced with a drug, had a bad reaction, tripped out, or all the above, but all I remember is screaming, crying, and darkness.

The screaming, well that was me going bat shit crazy in the bathroom. I just felt so off after I smoked a joint with some friends in a bedroom, and I’ve smoked before so I knew what it felt like but honestly this was like a whole new level of high. It wasn’t even a good high but a scary high, my mind was racing, going ten thousand miles per second. Jumping from thought to thought and it scared the shit out of me like I was vibrating and everything was going out of control.

I remember telling my friend who shall remain nameless that I felt sick, that something was off. She took me to the bathroom to throw up and I remember shoving my fingers in my mouth to throw up and I remember I couldn’t stop throwing up. I kept shoving my fingers so far down my throat to get whatever it was in my system out. And when that didn’t work my panic kicked in, I was so afraid that I was dying because that sensation of whatever I was on was still in me.

Then the screaming started, at first I didn’t even know it was me, it didn’t even sound like me. When I think back to that moment I can still hear myself screaming bloody murder like one of those girls in Nightmare On Elm Street or Chainsaw Massacre. My nameless friend tried to calm me down but I just couldn’t stop screaming and then my vision started to fade and I could hear my voice going faint.

I can remember myself saying over and over again “I’m dying, I’m dying aren’t I?” even though my friend tried so hard to tell me I wasn’t, I just knew I was…

Now here comes the part where I describe how it feels to die, when I lost consciousness or “died” there was nothing. Like my whole mind was transported into a dark place, pitch black no sound, nothing. It was just empty but I was still aware of it being empty. I could still feel myself thinking, thinking about what I did and how it will affect people. What will my mom think, how is she gonna feel getting a phone call in the middle of the night to know her 20 year old daughter died at a house party on the bathroom floor in pure fear. That no one around her truly loved her, to show she mattered.

I remember there was a light, and I started to focus on it. I told myself that I had to stay alive for my mom because she was everything to me. And I didn’t want to disappoint her, not anymore. I focused on that light until I heard a sound and I focused on that sound until I could make out a voice. At that point I thought it was heaven because you know seeing a bright white light and hearing a voice can only mean two things. And my dumb ass thought “I actually made it into heaven?”

Well it wasn’t heaven, it was the bathroom of that stupid party and that light ended up being the color of my friends grey contact lenses. That voice I heard was hers by the way telling me to breathe over and over again. Slow repetitive breaths to calm me down. Now this isn’t the same friend that was with me when I started screaming this was a different friend, someone who I plan on being friends with forever, hell she might even be the godmother to my child one day. And when I mean child I mean dog because I can’t stand kids.

Anyway back to my story, I focused on her contacts until I could finally notice my surroundings and remember where I was. Back in that damn stupid bathroom. I honestly don’t know how much time had passed could have been like five minutes or maybe even shorter but to me it felt like hours had passed. I guess time moves differently when you “die”.  Long story short my friend with the cool ass grey contacts drove me back to my dorm room where I continued to trip out until the ambulance was called but that part isn’t really important to me.

By then whatever I was given or on wore off so all the doctor did was tell me I had Mary Jane in my system which I already knew. I mean they drew blood and asked me to do a pee test but they didn’t even test it. So there really was no point in that at all. Low key still pissed off, Law and Order made it seem like doctors actually cared and those ass-hats didn’t even look twice my way.

That was also the night I found out who my true friends were and who wasn’t. You would think that if your so called bestie was dying in the bathroom you would want to make sure she is ok and gets home safely? No. Not even close to what my friends did. The only one that stayed with me was the one with the grey contacts. The rest of my so called friends continued to party it up and drink meanwhile I was seizing out on my bed and experiencing the feeling of dying a second time.

Anyway ever since that night I just felt off, I mean even three months after I still feel like something is missing from me, and I think I finally figured out what it was. The night I died was also the night my spirit died as well. I’m not a very religious person but all the descriptions on the internet and my movie watching expertise has come to that conclusion. A part of my soul was gone as well as my spirit.

My anxiety had increased by ten thousand as well as my depression. I started to snap at the ones I loved the most because I was ashamed, hell I’m still ashamed of what happened. My mom blamed me but only because she was scared, my sister blamed me, and I blamed me…

I wanted help, I sought solace in my so called friends but I just felt like too much of a burden because all they wanted to do was get high and party and I was the Debbie Downer, the weak link in that wolf pack. So I became more depressed, constantly feeling I was worthless, annoying, or just a reminder of a night that was too embarrassing or sad. That wasn’t the type of atmosphere I should have really been around or be around honestly but they were my “friends”. I listened to them whenever they needed me and gave them advice because that’s what friends did, that’s what friends do, and they care. Mine didn’t.

My grades started to slip because I just lost interest in everything. At one point I had goals, dreams, and ambitions and now I just don’t see a future for me anymore. I kept on arguing with my mom, borrowing money, snapping and verbally abusing her. Letting out all of my frustrations on her when all she wanted to do was help. All she wants to do is help her daughter survive and be happy.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been depressed, I’ve been depressed all my life in my opinion, I don’t remember a time where I was truly happy. You’re probably thinking “why didn’t she get help?” All this could have been solved sooner. Well that’s one thing you should NEVER say to someone who has depression, you have no idea how hard it is to seek for help when you’re afraid of people judging you or calling you crazy, over dramatic, childish.

Have I ever gotten help? Yes, of course I have. I’ve seen them all, psychiatrist, psychologist, therapist, shrink, whatever you want to call them I’ve seen them. Each time I was labeled something new and given something new to counteract that mental illness. Hell I’ve even been locked away in a psych facility not once but TWICE. Did that help? No not really honestly I still felt sad and lonely, paranoid, and so very angry.

I am too damn small to have this much anger inside of me. I’m barely 5”2, practically a hobbit. But I was angry, still angry actually. I’m angry that I keep hurting people and myself and anyone else around me. I’m angry that I think too much, say too much, cry too much, I’m angry I still have acne, I’m angry I use sex as a way to relieve stress, I’m angry I have shitty friends, I’m angry that I date or hook up with shitty guys and  I’m angry for constantly hurting and upsetting my mom. I’m so angry with myself.

I’m so tired of it all; so this short story is basically a way to relieve my anger. My mom once told me to write it all down, that it would make me feel better and honestly I don’t know what I feel just yet. But I’m hoping this will work. I’m not looking for pity or sympathy or anything I’m just looking for peace within myself. Just for once to not be so angry.

I’m not stupid I know I need outside help, I can’t rely on myself to fix everything. That would be like trying to fill a laundry basket full of water knowing very well there’s holes in it. So I know I need help, like a doctor, shaman, priest, hell I’ll even see a psychic. I’ve always wanted my palms read anyway.

So here is my short story of how I died but I’m still trying to live and I’m trying to live for my mom because she deserves that. She gave me my life, she sacrificed so much for me to be where I am today; I owe her everything.

I’m willing to fight through my sickness not only to make her proud but to make myself proud, even though I still feel like I’m missing a piece to my puzzle, I’m hoping I can replace it with a better one.

 

 


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the day i died

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