Site hosted by Build your free website today!

November 30, 1999

I know it’s been a while since I’ve written. A few weeks ago I had to have my stomach pumped. I took 16 sleeping pills washed down with schnapps. My Mom heard a crash and found me passed out on the floor of my bedroom. I only remember two things, taking the pills and awaking as they were pumping my stomach. I now know that my neighbor dragged me to the car and my Mom took me to the ER. My intention was not to kill myself, just to escape from reality for a while. I had read somewhere that an OD of sleeping pills could lead to light coma or death. Light coma sounded fun for some reason. I didn’t think that I took a fatal dose, which I was later told by a doctor. I told the doc in the ER that it was an accident, that I didn’t realize I took so many. I was sent up to the psych ward – against my will. A security guard stood by my bed and followed me to the bathroom. I arrived on a Sunday around 6:00am and convinced the psychiatrist to let me go Monday afternoon. Legally they could only hold me for 72 hours, but I convinced him that I was ever so grateful that my Mom found me and that I was alive. A part of me wishes that she hadn’t found me. I should have lied down after I took the pills, then I wouldn’t have fallen and alerted my Mom. Another part of me is terrified and wondering how I could have done such a thing. That’s the part of me that’s fearful of death. I don’t believe in a God. When you die, I think your body just rots in the ground. You’re asleep - you cease to exist.

While on the psych ward I met some interesting people. For some reason everyone kept touching my hair. Strange. One old man told me that he was Jesus. My response was, “I’m the Virgin Mary”. He then held his hand out and said, “Nice to meet you”. Another woman would go into her room every 30 minutes and talk to the husband that she didn’t have. She’d scream “I love you, I love you, sweetness.” I ended up hanging with my roommate (suffering from depression), a guy waiting to get into a halfway house, and a guy waiting for a bed in the rehab. As usual I bond with the drug addicts.

Anyway, now I have to prove to everyone that I won’t do something like that again.


Back to Meg's Journal index