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That One Time I Died
That one time I died: we casually joke about that day so often now that sometimes, I almost forget what it actually means, the weight of it all. I disassociate, reducing the overall seriousness of the desperate decision I made that night.
I laugh about May 11th as if it happened to somebody else, anyone but me, like it were just a scene from some movie I’d seen, but then it starts to sink in – on May 11th, 2015 around 6:30 am, nearly two minutes, I was dead; I had completely ceased to exist.
“That one time I died” came dangerously close to being a day no one laughed, or made jokes about; it was almost the day I never came back – it could have been the moment that my life had officially come to an end.
October 17th, 1991 – May 11th, 2015 followed by the words, “Rest In Peace.”
Honestly, there’s really nothing funny about that night at all, or how soon after we were able to turn it all into a joke. Why are we laughing about the worst night of my life? I can't even wrap my head around it; If my friend had driven just a little bit slower, waited at the stop sign to light a cigarette, hit just one red light, or if she stopped for gas on her way to my apartment that morning, I would not be alive to type this right now. I would be gone.
8 minutes. The paramedic said she was lucky to have found me when she did, because if she had been 8 minutes later, maybe even a few less, that phone call to my mother would have been unbearably different. Instead of having saved my life, she came very close to having to mourning my death.No one should have to bury their own child. Especially on Mother's Day.
8 minutes isn’t very long at all, and to think that was all the time I had left on my clock, before not even those 5 shots of Narcan would have been enough to bring me back long enough to get my heart started again. How different would that morning have been if that friend had gotten stuck in traffic, or stopped at McDonald’s for 8 minutes longer than she did? I don’t like to think about that. When I realize what I almost did to the people I love most, how close I came to breaking my daddy’s heart, the guilt’s too much and it makes my stomach hurt. I can't handle how selfish I was, how heartbroken I felt, and how desperate I was to just make it all end.
I’ve made several attempts at taking my own life over the years, but this was the closest I’ve ever come to being successful. Honestly, I wish I didn’t now know how easy such a thing could be done, because when those dark thoughts cross my mind, as they usually do from time to time – I can’t help but think to myself, “just do it eight minutes sooner this time.”
When I start to think about that morning; I can feel the unbearable anxiety in my mother’s chest as she ran from her car to my apartment door, I can feel the fear engulf her entire body when they stopped her in that doorway. My heart hurts when I imagine how scared she must have been, seeing my lifeless body on the hardwood floor, my face and lips blue, and my heart without a pulse. I’m sorry, Mama.
I can hear my rib as it cracked under the weight of the man who brought me back, for a minute and twelve seconds everything went black, the room remained silent, waiting on bated breath, surrounded by all of the letters I had written to the people I almost left, all of them still unsure if my heart would beat again, if it would restart and I'd come back to them, my mom watched my chest, praying for me to find the strength to breathe again.
I can hear the sound the gurney wheels made against my wooden porch, rushing me out of the screen door, and passing my grief-stricken mother who still remained in the dark, waiting to know if she’d have to put me in the ground, plan a funeral, still not even sure who she should call, or if my dad should be called at all.
They hurried me into the ambulance, I can still feel the weight of that man pressing down on my rib cage, hear the sirens for the short amount of time it took before reaching the hospital. I’m sure to those who stood around that room and waited, the 8 hours it took for me to finally wake up probably felt like forever.
But I did, I woke up to the sound of beeping, with IV’s in my hands, both wrists handcuffed to the metal bed rails, and as if it happened only yesterday, I can remember the initial feeling that swept over me, my very first thought being, “No, no, no! I can’t believe I failed.”
Beeping, feeling disappointed, and being angry at myself for having survived.. that’s honestly the first thing I remember, all that precedes is nothing more than a blur. I was gone, my breathing had stopped, my heartbeat couldn't be found, and I almost broke my parent's heart.. all over a girl.
The next time we jokingly say, “Hey, remember that one time you died?” my response should actually be, “No, I really don’t remember at all.”
I really don’t think we’d find that joke very funny anymore. I was dead, in that I find no humor.
I laugh about May 11th as if it happened to somebody else, anyone but me, like it were just a scene from some movie I’d seen, but then it starts to sink in – on May 11th, 2015 around 6:30 am, nearly two minutes, I was dead; I had completely ceased to exist.
“That one time I died” came dangerously close to being a day no one laughed, or made jokes about; it was almost the day I never came back – it could have been the moment that my life had officially come to an end.
October 17th, 1991 – May 11th, 2015 followed by the words, “Rest In Peace.”
Honestly, there’s really nothing funny about that night at all, or how soon after we were able to turn it all into a joke. Why are we laughing about the worst night of my life? I can't even wrap my head around it; If my friend had driven just a little bit slower, waited at the stop sign to light a cigarette, hit just one red light, or if she stopped for gas on her way to my apartment that morning, I would not be alive to type this right now. I would be gone.
8 minutes. The paramedic said she was lucky to have found me when she did, because if she had been 8 minutes later, maybe even a few less, that phone call to my mother would have been unbearably different. Instead of having saved my life, she came very close to having to mourning my death.No one should have to bury their own child. Especially on Mother's Day.
8 minutes isn’t very long at all, and to think that was all the time I had left on my clock, before not even those 5 shots of Narcan would have been enough to bring me back long enough to get my heart started again. How different would that morning have been if that friend had gotten stuck in traffic, or stopped at McDonald’s for 8 minutes longer than she did? I don’t like to think about that. When I realize what I almost did to the people I love most, how close I came to breaking my daddy’s heart, the guilt’s too much and it makes my stomach hurt. I can't handle how selfish I was, how heartbroken I felt, and how desperate I was to just make it all end.
I’ve made several attempts at taking my own life over the years, but this was the closest I’ve ever come to being successful. Honestly, I wish I didn’t now know how easy such a thing could be done, because when those dark thoughts cross my mind, as they usually do from time to time – I can’t help but think to myself, “just do it eight minutes sooner this time.”
When I start to think about that morning; I can feel the unbearable anxiety in my mother’s chest as she ran from her car to my apartment door, I can feel the fear engulf her entire body when they stopped her in that doorway. My heart hurts when I imagine how scared she must have been, seeing my lifeless body on the hardwood floor, my face and lips blue, and my heart without a pulse. I’m sorry, Mama.
I can hear my rib as it cracked under the weight of the man who brought me back, for a minute and twelve seconds everything went black, the room remained silent, waiting on bated breath, surrounded by all of the letters I had written to the people I almost left, all of them still unsure if my heart would beat again, if it would restart and I'd come back to them, my mom watched my chest, praying for me to find the strength to breathe again.
I can hear the sound the gurney wheels made against my wooden porch, rushing me out of the screen door, and passing my grief-stricken mother who still remained in the dark, waiting to know if she’d have to put me in the ground, plan a funeral, still not even sure who she should call, or if my dad should be called at all.
They hurried me into the ambulance, I can still feel the weight of that man pressing down on my rib cage, hear the sirens for the short amount of time it took before reaching the hospital. I’m sure to those who stood around that room and waited, the 8 hours it took for me to finally wake up probably felt like forever.
But I did, I woke up to the sound of beeping, with IV’s in my hands, both wrists handcuffed to the metal bed rails, and as if it happened only yesterday, I can remember the initial feeling that swept over me, my very first thought being, “No, no, no! I can’t believe I failed.”
Beeping, feeling disappointed, and being angry at myself for having survived.. that’s honestly the first thing I remember, all that precedes is nothing more than a blur. I was gone, my breathing had stopped, my heartbeat couldn't be found, and I almost broke my parent's heart.. all over a girl.
The next time we jokingly say, “Hey, remember that one time you died?” my response should actually be, “No, I really don’t remember at all.”
I really don’t think we’d find that joke very funny anymore. I was dead, in that I find no humor.
Published 19th Sep 2016
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16th Aug 2019 4:10pm
Reading this piece brought tears to my eyes as your words painted the picture so vividly of that day in my mind as if I knew you and I was there. My God!!!! Your pen writes with ease and draws your readers in and are able to tap into your emotions and to me those are the best writes when you can make your readers feel and see what you feel and see.... Let your pen be your drug and I pray it gives you the right amount of peace to where you don't need anything else to escape and I pray you find yourself or the you that you are meant to be the better version of yourself because you my dear are here for a reason so I pray you find your purpose and LIVE, just LIVE........ Hugs....
~BSavvy
~BSavvy
