Rest Would Be Perfect

Life was over.

I was done.

All the things I treasured were gone.

School.

My virginity.

My dignity.

My future.

The choices were simple:

Surrender to my mother and live a dead life.

Or take my life and leave the prison of this exhausted reality.

I got up and went into my mother’s bathroom.

Quaaludes. 

That was the answer.

Go to sleep.

Wake up in the ever-after.

I was exhausted.

Rest would be perfect.

My eyes could barely open from all the crying.

I dumped the pills onto my bed.

I stopped counting after 24.

One by one they went into my mouth.

Each chased by a sip of water.

It would be over soon.

No more worrying about failed classes.

No more dealing with my wretched mother.

No more rape-related side effects.

Just silence and darkness.

I lay back.

Darkness came.

I could hear my mother talking into the phone.

She was pissed.

She was ordering me to get up and put my shoes on.

I was laughing.

Putting shoes on would be easy except for the six shoes in front of me.

None of which apparently existed.

My eyes closed and I was in the ER.

They were asking me questions.

I was annoyed because I was trying to sleep.

They gave me something very sweet to drink.

I puked.

My eyes closed again.

I was in a dark room.

A nurse came in as I was attempting to get up.

Vomit was coming up fast.

She stood in front of me.

“Why would you try to kill yourself over a man?”

I mumbled, “I need to throw up”.

She kept repeating the question.

I projectile vomited in front of her.

She gasped.

I wiped my mouth.

Turned around and crawled back into bed.