The End of The World As I Know It

LONG POST ALERT!

Here is my experience from the moment I decided my life was over....writing it down might make it easier for me to take apart....and it feels cleansing...

I'd had a horrible fight with him. I don't want to go into detail because I don't think it's necessary to type words like that and I don't think it'll make me feel better. I thought I was getting better. I went to residential treatment, after all, and I came clean with my sins. I thought things had to get better. I knew he was hurt. I was still starving for affection but tried to be patient. He refused any affection but was willing to have sex. I was willing to do whatever it took to survive life at home. I was dying for affection. So he'd come on to me. I was forgiven then, but when it was over, I was still nothing but a whore to both of us. He still wasn't able to love me. I was still sick and broken.

One day he found a message between me and someone that consisted of me complaining about how hurt I was and the recipient telling me how not everything was my fault and how he'd come and visit me and it would be all better. I was beautiful to him and it didn't matter what my husband thought, this was his fault for starting it. I knew better. But I agreed because my husband hated me anyway and I was so empty and attention starved. I knew he wasn't really coming and that if he did I'd find an excuse not to show up. I gave compliments of my own to him that were well received. He thought I looked pretty in pictures. My husband only saw a slut. I'm not defending this exchange of words, I'm just attempting to let you into my head.

It was only talking but it was how the relationship went from dysfunctional to tragically over.

He was so angry that I'd still had a conversation with this man. I'd stopped that affair so many months earlier, so as lame as this sounds it was an improvement because it was only words. Mind porn. Emotional porn? I don't know.

I knew it was wrong, and I knew it hurt him but I really was trying to get better and how would I ever do it if I was constantly feeling unloved. That little "fix" of attention got me through. The way people come off a drug...slowly....step by step.

Of course I'm ashamed, but I'd modified my behavior.

He found out and all hell broke loose. Every name in the book was hurled my way, some I couldn't imagine being called. He said I was an unfit mother, worthless, and many other things. He quit answering my phone calls.

At that point I stopped trying to justify my behaviors and decided maybe he was right. Once I opened the door to those thoughts they came flooding in. As if it were an evil spirit knocking on that door, and making itself right at home. I knew what I had to do. I was scared. I knew the ambien would do it painlessly.

I dropped my daughter off at school and I told her no matter what happened that day, that I loved her all the way to the moon and all the way back. In first class seats. She looked at me and cried. I don't know why.

I drove away and cried harder. I called my mom and told her I was upset because I wanted to go to Chicago that day and was denied boarding or something stupid like that. She never accused me of over reacting. I think she knew something was up.

I told her I loved her and dad so much more than anything. I told her I was sorry for being so tragic all the time. I don't remember what she said. I wanted to say goodbye but I didn't want to clue her in as to what I was doing.

My husband clicked into the phone. I answered it. He launched into another tirade about what a peice of work I am. I agreed. He stopped and asked what was going on. I told him I was scared. I said I was sorry. And I hung up.

Sam called me to see what was going on for the day. I told him I was distraught. I was already home and was having a hard time. I hung up on him because he was getting through and the desperation driving me wasn't ready to leave yet.

I grabbed a fistful of ambiens and chased them with Cherry Dr. Pepper. I had to open one of the five cases I'd bought because I was so thrilled they brought it back. Too bad I'd never get to enjoy them. The pills went down faster than I expected. I dumped the bottle and counted the remainders. Nine had been swallowed. It was done.

Sam called me back, worried. I told him it was too late. He started yelling at me to go to the hospital. I think I hung up on him again.

This is where it gets fuzzy. I know my husband had called and I know he must have figured out what I'd done because I remember him begging me to not give up. He told me he'd called fire and medics and my next memory is being in the car driving away from the house, watching fire and medics race by. I laughed. Too late. I told him I'd passed them.

He got on his police radio or something and tried to coax my location out of me. It was the Whitehall Shopping Center, but I didn't say. I didn't want to be found. I had even grabbed my favorite blanket and planned to crawl into the backseat with it in the crowded parking lot, making it nearly impossible to be found in time to be saved.

That was my last memory.

I had made it into the parking lot, went off the road and driven into a tree that was in a divider thingy in the parking lot near Chili's.

I never went fuzzy. I don't remember hearing the helicopter that was sent up to locate me. I don't know how long it took to locate me. I don't remember the windows being busted in or being cut with the glass that came flying at me. I don't remember being pulled out, I don't remember the attempts to bring me to.

The next memory was the hospital, about 6 hours later, hooked up to tubes and in the intensive care unit.
A nurse was at my side at all times, suicide attempts arent allowed to be left alone.

After I was stable, I was brought to the cardiac unit where my heart was monitored after the duress it'd been put through. It had slowed down in the ambulance to near fibrilation.

My husband had been in the hospital for a while until he was asked to leave after he reminded me of the divorce that was inevitable, and how I cheated and my blood pressure and heart beat rose so quickly that blood began to pour from my nose. My good friend and "adopted dad" was there. I'll elaborate on him later. He is like my best friend and dad all rolled into one. Why didn't I call him?

The Desperation knew he'd be able to stop me. That's probably why.

If I were my own therapist, I'd say I was out of time for now. Which I am. I need to be somewhere in 30 minutes so I'm going to have to stop for now.

Someone's reading this because the little hit-o-meter is rising.

Whoever you are, thanks for caring enough to walk through this with me :)

It helps just to know someone is out there.