Here is something...very personal{well, I suppose everything I write is}...from a journal like thing I was keeping, written in October 2006.I was going to put in my book but I chickened out at the last minute.
I guess I'll feel the fear and post it anyway.This was written exactly before writing my very first poem on this site, "Paxil Eyes", the following day, I believe.
I was hoping, I guess...someone may be able to take something from this, in similar...footsteps, for lack of a better word.I have left it exactly as it appears in my notebook.
Wake up call - as of 11/10/2006
I am lying in the back of an ambulance, on a stretcher. My heart rate is
insane.I am shaking and trembling.
The paramedic is asking me questions and I am too out of touch with
reality-and too unstable to answer him. My feet and hands become numb.
My eyes go blurry. I start to feel calme, though I have not been
sedated. Perhaps it is because I know I'm on my way to the hospital. The
thought makes me feel safe. The date is October 22, 2006
I realize that I am partly to blame. I could blame many
people; doctors,myself, friends-or illusions of friends who were not
there, my poor judjement, the people at the detox center, the "friends" who
saw me spinning out of control and did not try to pick me up before
realizing that I was self-destructive........and alcohol.
The drive is almost relaxing now,even though we must be going about
120mph.
I arrive at the ER. The paramedics tell me that they're going to take
good care of me. They pick me up {still on the stretcher}and push me in
through the doors. I feel scared now-but calm at the same time. They
meet with a doctor ,and talk to her while transferring me from the
stretcher, onto the hospital bed.
I think about the people who might be worried about me at this
point....no one comes to mind. My mother could be upset-hopefully she
doesen't find out where I am.
A man enters. I don't look him in the eye, because my eyes are fixed on
the cabinet in front of me. I want a cigarette. He holds my hands up. "you
are very cold". I feel hot. I think about how awful I must look, after
pretty much staying in bed for the last three days up until this
point. I feel safe now. I think about how nice it would be to stay in
this hospital for awhile and just sleep and write. My whole body feels
so heavy. I hear the paramedics in the doorway telling a few people
Things about me-but I'm only half-listening and would rather not even
Know, however, I pay attention to the part about my heart rate coming
back down
A woman eventually enters the room and takes my hand. She tells me she
is going to "hydrate" me. She searches for a vein in my hand. She tries three
times, and fails to find one. Then she calls a man into the room. He puts
a hot blanket over my right hand{the left one has already been hassled}
The man asks about the tattoo on my wrist. I reply "long story" because
I feel too tired to talk. He tells me about a pheasant flying into his
window the day before. I smile. He makes me feel comfortable-and succeeds at
Locating a vein to hook me up to the IV
I think to myself; "I must remember this day-because it's the worst day
Of my life, and someday I'll see how much this day changed my life"...
…and then I recall my previous self-induced hospital experience,
Waking up to my family surrounding me, possibly moments away from death;
I was fourteen.