Pick Me Right up off the Ground

After my minor breakdown, I sought help from a professional, and realized that after nearly ten years of close abuse, this was simply my pent up reaction to nearly everything that upset me. I found myself learning how to control my pill addiction, how to slowly curb it, and in the end, move on from this rapid fire time of my adult life.

I was clean for almost two months before things went absolutely crazy again. The boys were picked up by Capitol Records, leaving me once again to handle myself on my own. I still worked crazy hours at the grocery store, and I frequently visited the cemetery to pay my late respects to my sister. I found that I almost felt responsible for her death, even though I knew it had been nothing more than a suicide.

The boys had been away for almost three weeks when I ran into my father for the first time in almost three months.

He was living in the shelter, now an alcoholic. I knew it was him, I knew those eyes. Under the raggedy beard and red puffy eyes, I knew that man was my father. Too bad I had gawked at him for too long, because his eyes locked on mine, and he started walking towards me. Even with his knew life at the shelter, he was still tall and imposing as always, and like a young girl I found myself shrinking back away from him, my back towards a wall that would ultimately become my failure.

"You!"

He screamed at me, voice scratchy from whatever. I trembled, my back pressed against the building. He hit my face and attempted to push me over, my stance making it harder for him to knock me down. I tried to protect myself, putting my arms over my face, distracting myself from how I was standing. Of course, he knocked me down soon afterwards. Dad beat on me for nearly twenty minutes before someone heard my warbled screams for help.

"Hey... Hey! Get offa her!"

Someone shoved my dad off of me, and I scrambled to the side, clutching the wall, not daring to look back at the person who had saved me. I started running to the train, scrambling through the typical Saturday crowds to get to the train. I made it home in under thirty minutes and ran straight to the bathroom. I knew I was bleeding, I could feel it on my face. My left eye was puffy and all of the pain of nine years of abuse resurfaced. I frightfully glanced at my medicine cabinet. I knew I still had a bottle of new, refilled tramadol as well as some left over oxycontin.

Joel and Benji and the rest of the boys would be home tomorrow... but I couldn't wait.

Desperate to end the haunting of my father, my sister's death, and consistant self-disappointment as well as self hatred, I uncapped the bottle. I dont remember putting them all in my mouth, swallowing them down with a mouthful of water, I dont remember opening my apartment door to the sound of a doorbell, and i definately don't remember falling down.

"Lacey!"

Someone was screaming. Someone was screaming my name over and over again, and i could barely lift my head. My eyelids were so heavy, my body felt like someone had settled a truck over my torso. My chest was tight and my heart thudded pathetically in my chest. Someone lifted my upper body, crushing me against them.

"Lacey Wilson, don't you fucking dare die!"

Die? I was dying? I could hardly breath, i just wanted to sleep. I groaned. Someone else listed my feet and together they carried me down the stairs and into the cold Maryland air. I shivered, the cold air waking me up just a little. Someone's warm hand touched my face, and pressed my head to the side. I met watery hazel eyes, tears staining his cheek. I tried to reach for him, but I was just so fucking tired.

"Lacey!"

I closed my eyes.