who the hell can see forever?
2013-08-13 10:55 p.m.

so here's how shit went down:

it was a sunday. i remember because there was a football game, so it must have been fall. i think 97, but i'm not exactly sure. i could find out if i cared to.

and once i made the decision, it actually was liberating as the most morose of philosophers promise. i collected the goods the day before. because there was shit to do the day of. i honestly don't remember hanging out with my mom much that day. but my sister and i drove to davis to visit our dad. she drove in the tiny old honda. i remember listening to bruce springsteen on the radio and sticking my arm out the window while driving on the freeway. its so strange because i remember it feeling like spring. feeling vibrant. maybe thats because i was using up all my alive.

it was a good visit with my dad. we watched football. it could have been the superbowl. i ate about 20 frozen gummy bears and no guacamole. fuck all the things we remember. i must have eaten more that evening given how much i threw up later.

there was no big revelation. i went in my room and put a song on repeat. i'll never disclose what song to anybody. there are things that should stay private. maybe i'm embarrassed. whatever. then i started swallowing pills. the whole bottle of unisom, like 50. its not easy to swallow that many large pills. its funny because i feared it wouldn't be enough to kill me. although it has to have been, right? the error was drinking so much from a bottle of cheap brandy. i don't think i would have throw up at all if not for that. i quietly cried for a bit, but the alcohol tempered my emotions for once, and i just went to sleep. i must have left a letter. i don't know.

i woke up to an angry mother shaking me and a bedfull of vomit. i didn't quite understand what was going on. i know i wanted to go to english class and said i couldn't miss it. i remember riding in the car with her and apologizing for having barbeque sauce on my face. she just said, "that's not barbecue sauce." when we got to the hospital and they tried to figure out what to do with me. there was a old man near death in the waiting room. i think that's when my mom screamed at me for being selfish. they found a hospital to admit me, but i would need to ride in an ambulance there in order for insurance to cover it. the emts were cute, and i made them feel completely awkward by just being.

my doctor was dr. pleasant. a black psychiatrist who i don't remember talking to very much. i remember asking him something to the effect of, "if i am good, can i leave?" he was a smiler and said maybe. i also remember thinking i saw giant long legged spiders hanging all through the hallway. i mentioned this to dr. pleasant which was probably a mistake, but i really hoped somebody else saw these things too. i kept jumping from spot to spot on the way to my room to avoid them.

they kept me just one night. when my mom picked me up, we stopped at mcdonalds for soft serve. when we were driving home, she mentioned she'd been pulled over on the way home from the hospital the day before for speeding. but was not ticketed because she told the officer her daughter just tried to die herself to death. i felt a bit useful in that moment.

my dad would later ask me why i didn't want him to visit me. or speak to me, or something. so concerned and offended. i told him i didn't remember that at all - because i didn't and still don't. he persisted in asking. what an egocentric ass he could be.

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I guess there are these telltale signs of alcoholism. like you start to lie about how much you drink. or maybe you sneak drinks at 10 am at your mom's house on Saturday. or you run away from work at 2 pm on weekdays to hit the 2-3 pm beer specials. maybe you can't remember the last day you did not have a drink, but maybe you don't really care, either. you clearly can't attend any work functions like happy hours or Christmas parties because we all know how those have ended up. you start refilling the mini liquor bottles and keep them in the console of your car so you don't go broke buying drinks with dinner. you kind of even forget that its probably illegal to keep these in the console of your car.

okay so maybe those aren't telltale signs of alcoholism. maybe that's just me. my own individual brand. maybe i can create after all.

something pretty wonderful needs to happen soon. it would be so nice.

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