Because Reason Says...

"Look - I find some of what you teach suspect, Because I'm used to relying on intellect; But I try to open up to what I don't know... Because reason says I should have died Three years ago... No other road, No other way, No day but today..."

Today officially marks the 3rd anniversary of me still being alive. Go me, I rule. It's also my mom's 5Xth birthday.

In 2003 my marriage was just falling apart. We hadn't even been married one year yet and I was already trying to think of ways to leave him. I had just started a new job at Jericho Mortgage Company (yes, the famous one.) I loved the job, even though the pay wasn't awesome but I sure wasn't going to complain because I had just lost my job with Countrywide. My boss was a guy in his mid-40's, ugly as sin, but very nice and very rich. Within a week, MMA accused me of having an affair with him.

Of course, like always, MMA had been up all night drinking but I was fairly sober by the time we started fighting because I had drank a bottle of wine and didn't want to open another. He on the other hand kept drinking beer after beer. It all started when I told him that he needed to stop drinking that night because he was already trashed and I poured one beer out. He lunged at me and I missed and he hit the counter, which pissed him off. We ended up in the living room at six o'clock in the morning screaming and yelling. Finally he called his sister and she came to rescue him and the dog. I threw our wedding photo at him, I threw the phone at him, I threw bottles and books and shoes and even our framed marriage license at him. I hated him.

I went upstairs and downed a 150 count bottle of extra strength Tylenol, five at time. It took about forty minutes because by the time I was on the last 15-20, my stomach was starting to get full. Of course I didn't swallow them with water, I used a large jug of Carlo Rossi Cabernet Sauvignon (the one that's bigger than a gallon.) When that was said and done, I waited about fifteen minutes and swallowed a bottle of Nyquil. I didn't think it would kill me, but I wanted out of this life and if I could at least be braindead, I would be happy. I attempted to slit my wrist but the thought of blood almost made me vomit and I didn't want that to happen so I stopped that attempt. Plus, it seemed like overkill (no pun intended.)
Around eight thirty, I called my friend RMac and told her I was having a bad day and that I loved her. Apparently she sensed something in my voice because after I hung up she called back a few times but I didn't answer because I was busy calling my mom, my friend JAFH, my old boss (strange reason for that but it meant something), and MMA's sister and mom's houses. I talked to everyone except MMA's family, I just left them messages.

I guess I passed out around eight forty five because I woke up being carried down the stairs in a blanket by the EMTs and the one closest to my eye had a watch that said 09:04. They carried me to the ambulance under the watch of the CPD, and when they laid me down and hooked me up they only realised I was conscious when I moved so they couldn't put a needle in my arm. They said that I was lucky that the CPD had decided to not press charges on me. I didn't know you could be arrested for attempting to commit suicide, but apparently you can. On the way to the hospital I floated in and out of consciousness, and the only thing I really remember is seeing my ex-boss's SUV parked in the cul-de-sac and he was running after the ambulance.

I woke up again in the hospital and my mom and RMac were there with a male nurse who strongly resembled my brother-in-law. He made them leave, and tried to get me to drink a cup of liquid charcoal. I got the first swallow down, but I couldn't get the second and yakked into a square bucket thing (whatever they're called, bedpans or something.) The nurse said that the only other option was to put a tube through my nose, down my throat and into my stomach. I told him that there was no way I could drink that crap, so I accepted the tube. I had to sign a release to let them do it. The tube was as big around as a coffee stirrer or a teeny little straw, not very big at all. It was fine going in my nose but once it hit the back of my throat it was yak city in there. Finally, it was over and the tube was all the way in my stomach. They hooked me up to a machine and pumped me full of charcoal liquid. I drifted in and out of consciousness for the next eight or nine hours. My ex-boss's wife came to visit me and talk to me about alcoholism, and tell me that if my husband was beating me she could help me with it. Neither one applied but I appreciated her kindness. When I finally came to and the staff did all their tests, they determined I was physically sound and I was given a psych evaluation.
This older lady came in and asked me a series of questions, and determined that I had had a nervous break down. I was told that I was being "asked" to report to NetCare for a mental health analysis, and if I didn't go within three days I would be arrested. They had a van waiting to take me, and I went. MMA had shown up at the hospital by then and went with me. The woman I talked to at NetCare said that she could tell it was my marriage that was destroying my mental health and advised me to get personal and marriage counseling. When I told this to MMA on the way home he flipped out, saying that I was the crazy one, not him, and we got into another fight, just fifteen hours after I had tried to kill myself.

If I had died that day, I would have been happy. Now that I have this life that I'm living at this very moment, I look back and feel sad that I feel/felt that way. I wouldn't give up anything for my family, my friends, SL, my job even... Sometimes I do wish still that I had died, to save me from this constant pain that I still feel because of MMA. Then I think about the good things I have - I have my family back, I have some great friends, I have SL who loves me very much. It's not worth it anymore.

I guess I was meant to be here, wherever it is that I am.