Two dollars a pill. That’s what Evan told me the night before via text message. He said he had one milligram pills of Kolonopin, when I asked if he had anything on hand besides bud because I wanted to try a different kind of high. Id bought weed from Evan a few times now and it had been so-so stuff, but on the upside he was a white guy.
Today I was meeting him at some office supply store, because he was still working. I pulled up in my blue Dodge Caravan with the ten dollars readily available in my front pocket. That would get me five pills today. I hear they’re similar to Xanax. After entering the store I follow him all the way to the back, where he places a baggy of green pills on a shelf and I hand him the cash.
Back in my van I swallow two pills and drive to my friends apartment. They’re not there. I flip on the TV set and wait. And wait. I feel about normal, maybe about as high when you’re around people who are smoking weed. I decided to swallow two more and chewed one up. Still nothing.
What was it Evan had said earlier? “About one and a half of those will be good. That’s weird. I hope these aren’t bunk. I’m thinking of this while pulling up to pick up Jenny. I think.
Darkness.
I find myself driving and its much darker outside and Jenny is no longer with me. Instead a few of my friends are riding with and I think I’m driving to a liquor store.
“Hey guys where are we going again?”
“Store bro. 4Lokos.”
“Oh yeah.”
4Lokos. Downed. Video Games. Vomiting. Second trip to the Liquor store. Beer. Ride home. Once the caffeinated alcohol hit my system I didn’t have a chance of making heads or tails of any situation.
Next thing I know I’m misplacing my keys and riding in the passenger seat of my van while someone else drives me home. I feel bad for burdening whoever it is that is driving me now, I try to warn them of the oddities my van has. I don’t think they got it.
I’m now tying two belts together and I notice they’re both white and haven’t been worn in a while. I’m in my room as far as I can tell at my dad’s house. Of the two belts tied together I’m tying on side into a large knot so when I drape it over the door and close it, it will stay put. I’m watching myself positioning my computer so the camera on it can show the people the chat room that I am in fact serious.
I’m moving my rolling chair over by the closet door. Images of Jenny come to mind and I say that I’m sorry while draping the makeshift noose around my neck. Gingerly tightening it and putting the buckle at the back of my neck so it doesn’t pinch me. Deep breathing. “I’m sorry.” Kicking the chair out from under was easy, it rolled nicely to an unsafe distance so it couldn’t be used for leverage. Suffocation. Blurred vision. No note? Choking noises. Oh god there are people watching this online aren’t there? “Yep. You’re the one who entered the chat room saying you were gonna off on cam.” I hear whispered in my head. This fucking sucks. Time isn’t even moving one frame at a time. Just work past it and it’ll be over soon, like a cross-country race. Goddamnit. My toes are barely touching the ground but it’s enough to allow me to take my hands off my throat to grab the doorknob. Vision is black. Air. Breathe in for the first time.
I remove the makeshift noose from my neck while walking over to my computer. Twenty people just watched my suicide attempt. One or two stating things like “do it faggot” while the rest apparently tried talking me out of it. Once again I find myself discovering what’s happening to me instead of thinking about it as I take a razor in my right hand and drag it along my forearm at least eight times. The blood coming from my arm is very pretty, almost fake looking. I do this in front of the camera, admitting defeat.
Someone in the chat room says to me, “I used to cut myself too, it helps. Do you have someone to call to talk to?”
“Yeah.”
I close the computer.
Dial chases number.
“Hey. I hope I’m not bothering you or anything. But. I just tried killing myself.”