There’s a feeling of comfort that I have grown into. Buried in this obscure, darkened mind. I feel home here. I feel like it’s time to dissect.

That morning was blurry and I don’t remember a lot. All that was clear to me was the decision I was about to make. I had been keeping the medicine in my vanity, reminding me every morning: “Shannon, you’re a depressed, anxious insomniac, and you need these to live a normal life.” The cap was so easy to pop off. Blankly staring at my reflection in my mirror, thinking to myself that there wasn’t a point in putting makeup on this morning since I wasn’t planning on living past 11 am. Each pill flowed from the bottle - so fluidly. I placed each pill in a line, organized so each one was facing the same way. Water, I almost had forgotten water. When I stumbled upstairs, I noticed that I had totally forgotten the block party going on throughout the street. My mom wasn’t home, so the house felt quiet while the noise stayed out on the street. When I sat back in my chair with the pills lined up, I had second thoughts. Something else - a serrated edge of a knife against my skin, or burns on my thighs from a curling iron. They weren’t good enough. I quickly threw three pills into my mouth. I felt them in my throat, but that didn’t stop me from throwing five more. Then two more. They were gone. I couldn’t turn back. I couldn’t change my mind. My mind was made up and I felt like going to bed. As the medicine kicked in, my mind slowly transformed into a cloudy, shaking mess. When he arrived, all I wanted to do was watch Donnie Darko. And then she arrived and I immediately wanted to rip my stomach open and take the medicine out because she was there. She was talking to me. I still hated myself more than anything, but she was there. 

The car ride to the hospital felt routine - like my mom didn’t really notice that she was taking her suicidal, overdosing daughter to the emergency room. When I got there, everything was loud. Everyone was running around me and I couldn’t stop and see their faces. The needles pierced my skin and I felt them bruising my arms because of my shaking. God this nightmare. The doctors and nurses saying, “Everything will be okay.” My grandma saying, “Shannon, I love you so much.” My mom’s voice. Then her laughter. I didn’t know what she was saying, but I wanted to be on the couch with her. I wanted to be back home hearing her talk to me. I wanted to close my eyes and have everything disappear. But the beeping monitors kept me awake. The needles in my arms kept me from looking anywhere but down. It was all blurry. It was all this nightmare I couldn’t escape from.