Status: One- Shot
Sleep
One
I had it all planned out, she was on her way and I was ready. I went into the bathroom with my sleeping pills in hand.
The ER gave them to me to help me relax when I went to the hospital with bad thoughts. So fucking ignorant!
Give someone who admits they will hurt themselves sleeping medication!
I took out eight. My lucky number. Two at a time I took them with water, or was it soda? I can’t recall. I put on my favorite lipstick, a deep shade of red.
The Mirror? No they would see it too soon and stop me. They had to find it after it was too late to stop me.
I pulled back the shower curtain and looked at the tile; I wrote three words before carefully kissing it underneath.
Bye.
I always hated that word; bye, it seemed like forever, there isn’t a word for bye in my language; just see you later. That’s why I picked it.
With a deep breath I went to my phone.
”We can’t hang out. My cousin got hurt.”
I replied something along of “…it’s ok.” But it wasn’t.
I panicked, it wasn’t right. It wouldn’t be perfect. I needed to see my best friend before I go or it wouldn’t be right. I wouldn’t move on. Nothing was right. It wasn’t perfect. I quickly went to the bathroom and threw up. Why was it so hard to throw up? I do it all the time when I didn’t want to but when I needed to only a little came out.
Is it enough? Fear was in my heart,
I have to stay up. If I sleep I may never wake back up.
I rushed to the living room and got onto the computer. Maybe if I keep myself busy I won’t get sleepy. After a few minutes I realized it wouldn’t work. My eyelids got extremely heavy. I grew more and more scared but knew I would have to sleep. I was scared. I wanted to go to the hospital; if I did they would commit me again. I didn’t want that. I hated the psyche ward. I did not want to go back; I don’t know how long I would be there.
I tried to cry for help in the form of collapsing in front of my mother. She was on the couch watching TV. She said nothing, she did nothing. I stayed there for a moment, contemplating on sleeping on the ground so she would know something was wrong.
She did nothing so I got up and laid on my bed; on top of the covers in my clothes. I fell asleep. The whole night I kept waking up. The next part until morning to this day I don’t know if it really happened or if it was a dream, maybe the pills had caused hallucinations. I was too ashamed to ever ask. I fear the truth. If my mother never knew I would be heartbroken that she wouldn’t even notice her youngest daughter had tried to kill herself. And if she did notice I don’t think I could live with the shame.
I remember a racket I woke up to hear my mom asking my grandma where my pills were. I stood unable to sleep but still tired and grabbed them from the bathroom where I hid them and threw them across the room at her before going back to sleep.
I don’t know how much time passed between these incidents either.
I awoke again. “Is she still asleep?” I went back to sleep.
“Is she dead yet?”
Sleep
“Is she awake?”
Sleep
“What’s wrong with her?”
The whole night this happened, me going in and out of consciousness unable to sleep fully for fear I would never wake. Finally morning came and I laid there for a moment.
Was I dead? I feared for a moment I was a ghost as I walked to the kitchen.
“Morning,” I said, heart pounding, half expecting her not to answer.
“Morning,”
We never spoke of that night.
The ER gave them to me to help me relax when I went to the hospital with bad thoughts. So fucking ignorant!
Give someone who admits they will hurt themselves sleeping medication!
I took out eight. My lucky number. Two at a time I took them with water, or was it soda? I can’t recall. I put on my favorite lipstick, a deep shade of red.
The Mirror? No they would see it too soon and stop me. They had to find it after it was too late to stop me.
I pulled back the shower curtain and looked at the tile; I wrote three words before carefully kissing it underneath.
Bye.
I always hated that word; bye, it seemed like forever, there isn’t a word for bye in my language; just see you later. That’s why I picked it.
With a deep breath I went to my phone.
”We can’t hang out. My cousin got hurt.”
I replied something along of “…it’s ok.” But it wasn’t.
I panicked, it wasn’t right. It wouldn’t be perfect. I needed to see my best friend before I go or it wouldn’t be right. I wouldn’t move on. Nothing was right. It wasn’t perfect. I quickly went to the bathroom and threw up. Why was it so hard to throw up? I do it all the time when I didn’t want to but when I needed to only a little came out.
Is it enough? Fear was in my heart,
I have to stay up. If I sleep I may never wake back up.
I rushed to the living room and got onto the computer. Maybe if I keep myself busy I won’t get sleepy. After a few minutes I realized it wouldn’t work. My eyelids got extremely heavy. I grew more and more scared but knew I would have to sleep. I was scared. I wanted to go to the hospital; if I did they would commit me again. I didn’t want that. I hated the psyche ward. I did not want to go back; I don’t know how long I would be there.
I tried to cry for help in the form of collapsing in front of my mother. She was on the couch watching TV. She said nothing, she did nothing. I stayed there for a moment, contemplating on sleeping on the ground so she would know something was wrong.
She did nothing so I got up and laid on my bed; on top of the covers in my clothes. I fell asleep. The whole night I kept waking up. The next part until morning to this day I don’t know if it really happened or if it was a dream, maybe the pills had caused hallucinations. I was too ashamed to ever ask. I fear the truth. If my mother never knew I would be heartbroken that she wouldn’t even notice her youngest daughter had tried to kill herself. And if she did notice I don’t think I could live with the shame.
I remember a racket I woke up to hear my mom asking my grandma where my pills were. I stood unable to sleep but still tired and grabbed them from the bathroom where I hid them and threw them across the room at her before going back to sleep.
I don’t know how much time passed between these incidents either.
I awoke again. “Is she still asleep?” I went back to sleep.
“Is she dead yet?”
Sleep
“Is she awake?”
Sleep
“What’s wrong with her?”
The whole night this happened, me going in and out of consciousness unable to sleep fully for fear I would never wake. Finally morning came and I laid there for a moment.
Was I dead? I feared for a moment I was a ghost as I walked to the kitchen.
“Morning,” I said, heart pounding, half expecting her not to answer.
“Morning,”
We never spoke of that night.