Sometimes We Takes Chances, Sometimes We Take Pills
He saved me from the life I didn’t want
Here I am in this relatively small bathroom stall, vomiting my insides out. The reason is that I overdosed on my anti-depressant medication. I just want out. You see my life has been so hectic of late. I’m 25 and I am in a world famous band, I have my own record label, I am signing some new band that I’m not quite sure about and I have been designing new clothes for my clothing line, and on top of all that a new club that I own is opening in less then an hour. This is where I am now, in New York, in my new Angels and Kings Night club.
But all of that is nothing compared to the pain I am in right now. My head is on fire. My stomach is rapidly empting it’s contents, and all that bile is scorching my esophagus. I can feel all my muscles cramping, and now I am becoming dizzy. This is it. This is what it will be like to die. I wonder if there is really an afterlife.
Through all of this I manage to hear a noise. It’s like a roar. It must be the new club goers. How shocked they’ll be when they find my corpse. What will the headlines be like, ‘Famous Rock Star Found Dead’ maybe ‘Pete Wentz Dead in New Angels and Kings’, I don’t know. I won’t be here to read them.” But then I heard a new noise. The opening of the bathroom door, no, don’t let them see me, I don’t want to live. I end up seeing this tall, lanky, figure approach me, then a third noise, a gasp. This is when the medicine finally knocked me out.
Wake up in some brightly light, white room. The light was hell on my eyes. The first thing I manage to focus my eyes on is a doctor telling me to drink something. That it was Epicic and that it would make me vomit. I tried telling him that I didn’t want too; that my throat was killing me from the vomiting back at the club, but all that came out was a painful coughing. I ended up taking the medicine anyways, they then brought me bucket, to catch my sick in. This is humiliating. What was even worse is when the last of the contents of my stomach where in the bucket I noticed a figure in the corner of my room. It was the same tall man.
The more I stared at the man, the more familiar he became. He was Mikey Way. I hadn’t seen him since the last time we were on tour together, a little over six months. I was now beginning to regret my actions now. Not the dying part, no, I would welcome that right now, no it was the not succeeding part that I was regretting. To let strangers and a friend see me like this, at rock bottom, it was mortifying, and I just wanted to disappear, or perhaps die of embarrassment.
“Hello, Pete.” I was more then a bit shocked to say the least. “Are you alright?”
“I just tried killing myself.”
“I’ll take that as a no.” I couldn’t help but laugh a bit at this. I don’t really know why. Probably because this whole situation was a bit ridiculous. I’m famous and life is what others might say is going well, yet I just tried to end it. And now a friend of mine is asking me if I’m alright. I find it amusing, but maybe that’s just the meds they have me on, speaking.
“And how are you Michael?” I asked smiling my sick smile.
“A bit shocked to be honest.”
“What? Why? You just witnessed a former tour mate trying to kill himself, that’s all. Nothing of much importance.”
“Pete, what’s,… why? His serious attitude pulled me out of my joking one.
With a sigh I answered. “Stress, I just couldn’t deal with all this shit that’s going on. I mean so many people are depending on me. I can’t do so many things at one times. I took a deep breath meaning to continue when Mikey cut me off.
“Then why did you try to tackle it all at once?
“I’m a people please, I couldn’t say no.” I started coughing and my throat began to burn again. A different method next time, I decided.
“Do you want me to get you some water?” I nodded still coughing.
While Mikey was gone, I was wondering what I would say to the guys and my family. Depression and suicidal tendencies have been a problem of mine in the past. I know they’ll be disappointed. Why can’t I ever do anything right? I wonder if I’ll have to put my projects on hold? I think I could still do a couple of things. But which projects? What’s the most important? Probably the label; I could make or break that new band, and they are really good. Good enough to make it. Maybe a new tour with the band? Eh, they probably won’t trust me on tour. I guess I could continue with clandestine clothes line. I’ve been digging my new neon designs.
“Um Pete?” Mikey knocked at the door. I waved him in, not wanting to upset my throat, until I got the water.
“Here.” He handed the cup over and I downed the contents, ah sweet relief.
“So, do they, like, have you on some sort of watch?” His question caught me off guard.
“Uh, no. The watch is more for those who tried to hang themselves or cutters. I tried to overdose.”
“Oh. When do you get out?”
“Anytime now.” Conveniently a doctor walked into my room.
“Mr. Wentz, and company, your time here is almost over. We just need you to sign some paper work. Please rest your voice, and you do you have anyone that could watch you at home so you don’t…”
“Attempt suicide?” I asked, finishing her sentence.
“Yes, just someone to check in everyone and a while?’
“I could.” Mikey humbly rose his hand and answered.
But all of that is nothing compared to the pain I am in right now. My head is on fire. My stomach is rapidly empting it’s contents, and all that bile is scorching my esophagus. I can feel all my muscles cramping, and now I am becoming dizzy. This is it. This is what it will be like to die. I wonder if there is really an afterlife.
Through all of this I manage to hear a noise. It’s like a roar. It must be the new club goers. How shocked they’ll be when they find my corpse. What will the headlines be like, ‘Famous Rock Star Found Dead’ maybe ‘Pete Wentz Dead in New Angels and Kings’, I don’t know. I won’t be here to read them.” But then I heard a new noise. The opening of the bathroom door, no, don’t let them see me, I don’t want to live. I end up seeing this tall, lanky, figure approach me, then a third noise, a gasp. This is when the medicine finally knocked me out.
Wake up in some brightly light, white room. The light was hell on my eyes. The first thing I manage to focus my eyes on is a doctor telling me to drink something. That it was Epicic and that it would make me vomit. I tried telling him that I didn’t want too; that my throat was killing me from the vomiting back at the club, but all that came out was a painful coughing. I ended up taking the medicine anyways, they then brought me bucket, to catch my sick in. This is humiliating. What was even worse is when the last of the contents of my stomach where in the bucket I noticed a figure in the corner of my room. It was the same tall man.
The more I stared at the man, the more familiar he became. He was Mikey Way. I hadn’t seen him since the last time we were on tour together, a little over six months. I was now beginning to regret my actions now. Not the dying part, no, I would welcome that right now, no it was the not succeeding part that I was regretting. To let strangers and a friend see me like this, at rock bottom, it was mortifying, and I just wanted to disappear, or perhaps die of embarrassment.
“Hello, Pete.” I was more then a bit shocked to say the least. “Are you alright?”
“I just tried killing myself.”
“I’ll take that as a no.” I couldn’t help but laugh a bit at this. I don’t really know why. Probably because this whole situation was a bit ridiculous. I’m famous and life is what others might say is going well, yet I just tried to end it. And now a friend of mine is asking me if I’m alright. I find it amusing, but maybe that’s just the meds they have me on, speaking.
“And how are you Michael?” I asked smiling my sick smile.
“A bit shocked to be honest.”
“What? Why? You just witnessed a former tour mate trying to kill himself, that’s all. Nothing of much importance.”
“Pete, what’s,… why? His serious attitude pulled me out of my joking one.
With a sigh I answered. “Stress, I just couldn’t deal with all this shit that’s going on. I mean so many people are depending on me. I can’t do so many things at one times. I took a deep breath meaning to continue when Mikey cut me off.
“Then why did you try to tackle it all at once?
“I’m a people please, I couldn’t say no.” I started coughing and my throat began to burn again. A different method next time, I decided.
“Do you want me to get you some water?” I nodded still coughing.
While Mikey was gone, I was wondering what I would say to the guys and my family. Depression and suicidal tendencies have been a problem of mine in the past. I know they’ll be disappointed. Why can’t I ever do anything right? I wonder if I’ll have to put my projects on hold? I think I could still do a couple of things. But which projects? What’s the most important? Probably the label; I could make or break that new band, and they are really good. Good enough to make it. Maybe a new tour with the band? Eh, they probably won’t trust me on tour. I guess I could continue with clandestine clothes line. I’ve been digging my new neon designs.
“Um Pete?” Mikey knocked at the door. I waved him in, not wanting to upset my throat, until I got the water.
“Here.” He handed the cup over and I downed the contents, ah sweet relief.
“So, do they, like, have you on some sort of watch?” His question caught me off guard.
“Uh, no. The watch is more for those who tried to hang themselves or cutters. I tried to overdose.”
“Oh. When do you get out?”
“Anytime now.” Conveniently a doctor walked into my room.
“Mr. Wentz, and company, your time here is almost over. We just need you to sign some paper work. Please rest your voice, and you do you have anyone that could watch you at home so you don’t…”
“Attempt suicide?” I asked, finishing her sentence.
“Yes, just someone to check in everyone and a while?’
“I could.” Mikey humbly rose his hand and answered.
♠ ♠ ♠
Hope you like. Please comment!-Abbi