Why I Committed Suicide (35 page)

In a moment of temporary (in)sanity I finally got the courage to go downstairs and ask my mom to help me. I merely told my mom what she already knew and didn’t want to hear. My body was hurting worse than I could ever remember it hurting. I could feel painful friction from my joints when I moved any of my appendages. The simple act of opening my eyelids shot painful spikes of light straight through my retinas and into my brain. It felt like I was falling onto a dull wooden stake and driving its splintered shaft straight into my eyes over and over. My stomach was cramping in knots and all that would come out of me was evil green bile from the wrong direction. The sweats started and I could feel each follicle of my hair as it slowly tore the flesh on my scalp and grew outwards. I knew I was in for it bad this time and I knew that I didn’t want to have to go through the long arduous journey of trying to get out of the house and score just to feel human.

I had been going through severe withdrawals while trying to pretend like everything was okay since I “quit” after they caught me stealing their money last week. Of course I didn’t fucking quit, and when every last bit of cash I could come up with was gone the sickness started. This was about a week after I was supposed to be through with feeling bad. It’s sadly ironic that I had to pretend to be feeling withdrawals while I was still using and then I had to pretend to be well while trying to kick.

My mom freaked, but she found some loophole in my dad’s insurance that got me into this rehab where they’ve given me some nice pills that make me feel almost okay. The name of the place is called “Wood Haven” or “Wood Harbor” or “Wood-something-or-other” so you know it’s a North Dallas fancy-schmancy facility. At least I’m well enough to write something again. This place is mostly full of rich corporate execs or their kids who are addicted to something or other. There are even a few Dallas Cowboys in here serving their mandatory league rehab time after testing positive. Nate Newton’s down the hall, but he gets to stayin his room all day and watch TV instead of going to the weird group activities they make everyone else go to.

I talked with one lady for an hour who claims to have a serious marijuana addiction. I tried to be sympathetic to her plight, while we drank the plentiful and expensive hot chocolate the facility provides, but she wasn’t too keen on hearing about how I like to inject syringes of heroin into my veins. Marijuana addiction, give me a fucking break! They have the drug addicts mixed in with the sex addicts (mostly men unfortunately, and they go to different groups) which is kind of fun. The stupid roommate they gave me the other day said some psycho shit to get put on a suicide watch, which means they took everything away from both us that he might possibly use to go psycho. Hopefully Manson will concentrate on hurting himself if he decides to snap instead of his peacefully sleeping roommate.

Most of the people in here are pretty legit. There are lots of alcohol and coke stories from the dads and kids but I have the dubious honor of being the only heroin patient on this wing and I kind of like the stigmatic aura and whispers that follow me around. It’s like I have a sign that says “PELIGRO” on my back. Heroin is another drug that most people only know from what the propaganda machine has fed them. I’m predicting this place will be seeing a lot more heroin-addicted kids in here really soon that are a helluva lot younger than I am, once the N. Dallas problem shows its face. Maybe my groundbreaking rehab program will serve as an example to help somebody else get the right treatment in the future. We’ll see what happens; I’m not too impressed with the therapeutic value that the polished surface of the fancy “Wood Whatever” conveys. This is more like a white collar prison vacation resort with a pool and tennis courts than a facility that can help me.

Rehab was one big expensive motherfucking joke. Don’t get me wrong, I got a lot out of it and I feel a lot better since I got to come down off my withdrawals with their magic “feel better” pills, but for the most part it all boiled down to a bunch of rich crybabies and their horseshit. The hospital made me physically well and one counselor was even able to help me put my addiction into a better perspective. Plus I felt safe there. While I was in the facility there was no paralyzed girlfriend to disappoint, there was no job to worry about and there were no parents wanting to ban me from their lives forever; just a lot of people willing to listen. I met a lot of cool patients that helped give me a better grasp of how big reality actually is and they helped me gain some focus beyond just myself, but there was nothing more for me there.

There was this one counselor named Dave who thankfully didn’t believe me when I casually brushed over how much the accident was bothering me inside. He got me to talk to him about what was really going on in my head and about how overwhelmed I feel with everything. By the time we were done I was blubbering and crying all over again. It gets easier to relive the accident each time I pull off the mental bandages and pick at the scabs but it sure does suck to go through and it leaves me totally worn out. Except for these writings though, Dave’s the only one who’s sat down to ask me to directly talk to him about how the accident was affecting MY life. If it’s any consolation he helped me realize that I’m at least grateful I wasn’t fucked up when the car wrecked. I knew about survivor’s guilt and all that other crap already, but maybe there’s actually something to it. I have to stay by Jenifer, I have to. Her existence keeps me alive and my problems seem insignificant compared to what she’s dealing with on a daily basis. I have to be strong.

I started to think I would be ok after being confined for those few days. Jenifer came by to visit me and even though it cheered my soul to see her, her parents still look at me with so much contempt. My mom was there also and followed me around spreading her “everything’s okay” false happiness to anyone who would listen. I’m realizing that when I get out of here all I have to go back to is that same cold room at my parents’ house which looms over me like a black hole and nobody pays any attention. My sister is cool and I have a lot of love for her, but she can’t even begin to understand what I’m going through. My Dad’s still pissed off about me stealing their money, even if they have plenty of cabbage. He’s probably more concerned with how easily I was able to deceive them to get at their money; to him it’s like discovering the dog is using the telephone to call China while he’s at work. He’s always been respectful but I’ve never been much more than a stupid kid and now that I’ve proven I’m not stupid he’s likely a little frightened about what other damage I might be able to do. My mom thinks it’s all her fault but I know she’s smart enough to know that it isn’t.

I tried to quit, dammit I tried, but living in my parents’ house right down the street from the dopeman makes the whole situation pathetic. As soon as I got home from the rehab hospital there was a check in the mail with some money from the accident. As soon as my mother left to go someplace I took a taxi to cash the check and then went and scored. Yeah, I scored.

What the fuck is wrong with me? All that rehab crap they fed me bounced around in my head for about 2 hours before I was already back at it, pulling stupid stunts that I know are going to get me caught down the line. I hate taxis too. I’ve put my parents through hell. I had every single advantage as a child and I’m still bitter for no reason even though none of the problems in my life are their fault.

It was a very bad day.

I wrecked my fucking car pretty bad today. Poor Sally. It’s not like before when I merely smashed in the front fender and I was able to fix it by ripping a replacement off a fellow bug owner who had the misfortune of leaving his car by the side of the road one evening. I drive as fast as I can now, probably hoping some ancient part in the vehicle will finally give way and fate will dispose of me quickly, but so far I’ve only managed a few minor fender benders. I even remember most of them.

Having just scored, I was pleasantly fucked up driving to the hospital to visit Jenifer during her afternoon rehab. I wasn’t going that fast but I turned a street corner too shallow and hooked the front passenger wheel on a telephone pole suspension cable. I was going just fast enough to drag my car up the wire and roll it over a few times, finally landing upside down, caving in the roof and smashing all the windows. Except for some minor cuts I got from the glass while crawling out of what was left of the window, I was perfectly fine once again. Dammit.

Jenifer had secretly given me her credit card so I could get cash to buy her some smack but I had to use it to pay the tow truck guy to flip my car back on its wheels instead. Can you believe that when I stuck the key in the ignition the damn car started right up? After some minor business with the police and refusing an ambulance I hunched down inside and drove my car to the hospital for a visit and then back home. Even though I had an excuse, Jenifer was pissed because I was late again and her mom found out about her giving me the credit card, so Jen got even more anti-Sam propaganda to add to the ever-growing fire. Yes I am a bad fuck up, but I still love her and it hurts me more than anything when my behavior is used to take their shitty frustrations out on Jen. Punch me, hurt me, but leave her alone! Isn’t it enough you are more important in her life right now any-fucking-way?!

My parents freaked when they saw the car and I’m guessing it was about the last straw. It was so obvious they just wanted me to go away that I just did. My mom even started yelling that I wasn’t leaving with my car.
Oh, you want me to go but I can’t take my own fucking car? What do you want me to do? Fuck you!

I went to Denton and saw my friend Kirk who’s going to let me crash with him for a few days. I wasn’t sure what else to do or where to even try and go.

I’m still sitting here thinking about that last one.

I’ve been staying with Kirk and Bryce now for many of the past weeks and I’ve been doing some terrible things for money. I’ve just kind of attached myself to their apartment and I’ve worked towards establishing some credibility in my life again but nothing ever seems to pan out into anything worthwhile.

I got fired from my job at a local company called MARC whose sole purpose it to call people during dinner and try to get them to answer surveys. I probably should mention that I told them I was bilingual which is why they chose me over several other applicants, plus it got me an extra quarter per hour. My job basically involved calling people and trying to get them to take incredibly long boring surveys with absolutely no incentives. While I was being monitored for practice I only had to talk to a few English speaking people on the phone and I was doing fine after two days of training but when I finally got to my cubicle with my own computer calling list, nothing but Hispanic names and numbers started scrolling down my screen. I tried to do my best but after a day of spouting out random words in Spanish to people over the phone and not fulfilling any of my survey quotas, it was pretty obvious I needed to go before they monitored my calls or got a complaint.

I said I could speak Spanish; I didn’t say I could make comprehensible sentences or understand what the other person is saying when
they
speak Spanish. So most of my first day I used a lot of very stiff standard key Spanish phrases like “El Gato Es En El Bano”* and “Mansana Con Leche Es Bueno”.** That kind of thing. It didn’t go over too well with most of the families I called; I probably broke the company record for the most, but shortest, calls in one day. Some very drunk Mexican men had a good laugh about the whole thing when I called their house. They started spouting back English phrases that made no sense and we had a good time playing around for a bit.

After a while, a Hispanic girl in the cubicle next to me started giving me the evil eye, as if perhaps I was butchering her language and that maybe I was also responsible for exploiting and persecuting her people over the past millennium. I realized things were getting too heavy and it was time to ramble so I dicked off for the last few hours of my shift and never went back. At least I’ll get paid for the training time. Hee hee.

My next job was working to help set up the new Super Wal-Mart on the outskirts of Denton. My only difficulty there was getting up at the ungodly hours they start work and finding a ride or catching the bus out to the store. They needed people to be there around 7 a.m. and I usually came in at about 2 p.m. with the returning lunch people and then signed in like I had been there all day. Then I went in the back warehouse and worked for a while, helping unload and then unpack the endless boxes of crap they sell and put it onto the shelves. The few times I managed to make it in there on time, they made all the people sing these gay-ass “Go Wal-Mart” songs to kick off the morning on a positive note. Every time I had to stand and listen to one of their songs I made sure to steal something at the end of the day to compensate for them stealing a part of my soul with their horseshit drivel.

One day I was trying to catch the bus out to the store and I didn’t have any scrilla to pay the fifty cent bus fare, the most I could come up with was a few washers and some pennies I found on the ground near the beat up phone booth next to the apartment. I got on the bus in a crowd of people and deposited what I thought looked like a random assortment of change into the slots. The coin collector was glass though and the bus driver kicked me off the bus when he saw what I tried to do.

While I was walking depressed down the middle of the street back to Kirk & Bryce’s apartment, trying to think of another way to get a ride to work, this dollar bill blew lightly by my feet. I ran to catch the limp paper and it was ten dollars! What a great fucking country right? I went to the store to buy a pack of smokes and then used the change to get on the next bus to work where I smiled at the token Wal-Mart handicapped person saying “hi” at the door and then I signed in as if I had been there the whole time. I didn’t kiss enough asses to get put on the permanent hire list for Wal-Mart, so after the store opened I got the boot, but I did learn one thing. I really hate singing motivational songs in the morning!