Kill Switch

The Chaos Code
2018-01-24 18:45:56 (UTC)

I Almost Died NYE: Part 2

Bet you guys never thought I would finish the story, did you? Well, I must admit, my memory of the events of that night are now much less clear and I probably should have taken the time to write it up when they were fresh in my mind the day I wrote part 1. Or, rather, the day after. . .giving time for my carpal tunnel swelling to go down.


I didn't, though, so now the product of what happened during the rest may not be as accurate and descriptive as Part 1 was. . .but I'm going to try to remember every detail possible.

***NOTE: Part 2 is just all the things that happened that lead up to how I came about actually getting myself and certain certain characters into play for the suicide attempt. All the planning and stuff. Part 2 is basically all the stuff that happened between the fight at the hospital that pushed me over the edge [part 1] , , ,to the actual attempt itself and what followed [part 3].

Will finish this up and write part 3 eventually. I promise. Lol. Eventually being the key word here...hah.

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I left off with me running out of the hospital and saying I was frantically finding an uber to get to my car. Well, that was definitely incorrect and idk what the hell I was smoking when I wrote that because I boycotted uber a long time ago for many reasons. . .I only use lyft. I am a loyal lyft customer. FUCK uber. I went to get a lyft to get to my car which wasn't too far from here. . .only to find out my account had been drained.

Well, that didn't take long. My mother and father are connected to my account but I am not connected to theirs. In other words, they can both access my account and do with it what they want but I can't access or see anything about either of theirs. Since this bank is so small and there are only three branches in the entire world and my mother is good friends with the lady who handles our account, my mother has, as per usual, made up some ludicrous things about me. . .giving her valid, legal reason to say that I wasn't sane enough to make the decision to manage my own money and that my parents needed to be on there. I turn 26 next month. TWENTY SIX. And they refuse to take my parents off my account. So as soon as any sort of money goes into my account. . .my monthly check. . .ANYTHING. . . I will either wake up and it will be there in an accurate amount or will wake up to some of it missing or I will wake up to my bank account drained to zero. They only drain it to zero when I've done something "wrong" (aka, something they don't like). I've tried banking with other banks but have run into trouble with hidden fees and minimum balance requirement and/or monthly input requirement. . .there are times where I go weeks to months with only a few cents or a couple dollars in my bank account and am slowly living off of that during that time. I have a once-a-month psychologically-based disability check coming into my account literally only once a month and almost the entirety of it gets eaten up the day it hits my account because of dog related things, rent, utilities, tons of bills, car insurance, school payments (I'm enrolled in three colleges and in a pre-med program and having to get a fuckton of MCAT studying materials so that's hundreds upon hundreds of dollars...not including the optional summer study courses that I'm definitely taking), my medications. . . My medications are now through the roof again. Despite the fact I have medicaid and every single medication is exactly 3 dollars, I am back to having a minimum of 14 bottles of pills with me on a daily basis and taking most of them. There was one point in my life where I was taking over 20 different pills in over 20 different bottles (I actually have a picture of the insane amount of pill bottles I had every month on my instagram) and I swore I would NEVER go back to that but, then again, never in my life did I think I would be dealing with lupus or fibromyalgia or hyperalgesia.

OH! WHICH, BTW, OFF TOPIC BUT I GOT MY RHEUMATOLOGY APPOINTMENT SCHEDULED FOR FEBRUARY 5TH AT 3PM, SHOW UP HALF AN HOUR EARLY. I'M FINALLY GOING TO GET SOME ANSWERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ahem, anyways. . .

My account was drained. I couldn't get a lyft. I was about to throw my phone on the ground and destroy the thing. I checked my wallet for cash. I never, ever carry cash, so I didn't expect to find any. . .and I didn't in my cash pocket. But there was this 100 dollar bill folded up all tiny in my change pocket, masked by a bunch of small business cards and folded papers. I could afford the lortabs. Perfect. Now I just needed to find a way to get to my car before the pharmacy closed so I could fucking kill myself.

I thought about running. I love running. I used to be on track in high school, as I'm sure I've mentioned. It's my favourite form of exercise. But the fact is. . .I had literally just gotten out of the hospital for such intense joint and muscle pain that I couldn't bare to even stand up straight for long periods of time. At this point, I was already sitting down on a curb in the ER parking lot under a street lamp. I had almost forgotten that it was NYE. . .but then a muffled, distant, explosion hit the sky to my left and reverberated around me. It wasn't loud at all. . .just a soft 'boom' noise that caught my attention enough to make me look in that direction.

Fireworks.

I remembered the last New Years even I had. . . I had almost killed myself that NYE, too, but it was one of my very typical suicide attempts where I was NOT at peace with death and secretly wanted to live and was silently begging people to save me and help me somehow without calling 911 and putting me in a ward. . .The suicide attempts where I'm shaking and sobbing as I hesitantly down the pills and slice my wrists up or debate jumping or debating turning the wheel in a split second to hit that guard rail head on at 80mph or higher or to jump in front of that semi or lay down tie myself to train tracks that are frequently used or slip the noose over my neck or drink whatever foul liquid poison in my hand that my body will instantly reject and force me to throw up or to slice that one spot I was talking about or to hold a very sharp blade or glass/bottle shard to my throat side after palpating to find the carotid and jugular and giving myself a pep talk to 'just do it' as multiple different people while answering all why's. . .Why I SHOULD do it, since there are never any why "shouldn't" you do it. . .except maybe my dog. My dog is my son. . .he sees me as his father. . .As a certified ESA, one of his purposes that makes him happy in life is servicing me and helping to ease my symptoms. He did that even prior to being certified as an ESA. My dog is always my only reason to stay alive that I can think of because I don't know what would happen to him if I were gone. . .where he would go, who he would end up with, what would happen to him. . .since he is a purebred pomeranian with such unique markings that no other pomeranian has, he would be snatched up by people in a heartbeat. He's like me in looks. . .he has such unique features that people just want to snatch him up and foster and adopt him and kidnap him purely to show him off for his looks. But then they find out he's diagnosed neurotic and the medicine for it turns him into a very lethargic, purely sad dog. . .so I immediately weaned him off of those. He has a million and one quirks that only I can surpass. He only allows me to do certain things. I'm the only one in the entire world who he trusts enough to do this or that. . .his nuances are extreme and they take a long time to get used to. I have had him since he was a puppy and I he grew up with me. He is 4 years old now and he is my ESA and my only reason to stay alive.

But in the moment. . .that isn't good enough because my catastrophic thinking and extreme "why bother?" version of nihilism kick in during those times. That has been almost every suicide attempt to date. Which is a feat, because, as I've mentioned, I have WELL over 100 suicide attempts under my belt by now. I stopped counting at 100. I wouldn't be surprised if it were in the 200's, 300's, maybe even as high as 400's or 500's by now. . .attempting either every single day or every other day. . . sometimes multiple times a day and night. . .for tons of years on end. . .Yeah, that'd do it.

THIS suicide attempt was so different. . .I've only felt this type of suicidal ideation once before. Like I said in my Part 1 entry. . .it was the time I overdosed on exactly 100 klonopin, drank an ENTIRE bottle of Schol's vodka by myself, and slit my wrists open deep enough to need stitches and some blood at the hospital.

I felt. . .happy. I felt genuinely happy with my decision. My entire body was on fire from joint and muscle pain, but other than that. . .I had never felt better. It was like every single one of my mental illnesses had left me. The ones that were being covered up and/or controlled had disappeared. . .and my borderline personality disorder---which is the only disorder that has no medication and no treatment and happens to be my most difficult uphill battle. . .even more daunting than my schizo disorder---just decided it didn't want any part of me anymore and left. Suddenly I was free of everything. . .and my mind was that of a neurotypical person. . .except I was about to commit suicide and slice my wrists open. But in such a different way than I had EVER experienced before. . .

I had to brainstorm fast in order to get to the pharmacy on time for them to fill it. They were closing very, VERY soon. I got out of the hospital so late. Luckily, I'm great at thinking on my feet. . .especially in high pressure, high stress situations.

I smiled to myself and decided my idea was solid. I painfully forced myself into a standing position and trudged back through the ER's front doors and sat myself down with a pained groan in front of the intake window. The lady sitting behind it looked confused.

"I could've sworn we discharged you. Is something else wrong? Did you have a question?"

"I need to speak to Doctor Vincent [last name]." I said, quite obstinately, through teeth gritted tightly in pain, right eye twitching from having walked faster than normal and not taking my time to get back into the hospital from my spot in the parking lot. . .immediately after literally RUNNING through the hospital and into the crisp, winter air of night. The adrenaline surge I had from lying right to Vincent and feeling terribly about it as he did mention how he was offering his services for free to me for some reason. . .taking the time to remind me his psychiatric position in the ER is what paid the bills and put food on the table and such. So, for him to offer it for free implied I was special for some reason. I had no idea why at this point. However, the adrenaline surge from that allowed me to carry all of my things which were rather heavy on my quickly deteriorating muscles and joints while running full force through this huge tier 1 hospital and out into a ginormous multi-leveled parking lot filled to the brim with cars and adorned with three helipads spaced out throughout the top of it all, which is where I had happened to run out to.

I noticed the intake woman pick up the phone to dial his extension and that she was taking her sweet time doing it. I whipped out my phone, popping my wrist in the process which felt heavenly, and checked the time before she could dial his extension. I don't remember exactly what kind of time constraint I was under, but I remember it was enough to stress me out and to make me very adamant about getting things done quickly. "I need him to come up here to speak to me asap, please. And tell him to bring his car keys. And that it won't take long." I paused for a second as she raised her eyebrows when I mentioned the keys. That must have sounded a little weird. I tried to recover with my words. "This is extremely urgent. Please, please, please get him down here as fast as you can. If you tell him my name, he'll come as soon as he possibly can. My name is Killian [last name]."

Ofc, I got the immediate reply of "I'm sorry, what???" When I say my last name. When I'm in a hurry, the Russian side of my barely noticeable accent slips out and when I am speaking fast, that Russian accent hits on my very common Russian surname, which is not one American's just just spell or even say off the bat. I can't even tell you how many odd spellings I've had. Hell, I had a damn hard time spelling it when I was learning how to spell my full name; Killian, Q, K, K. First, middle, second middle, last. English is my first language and spelling is one of my strongest suits as I'm fantastic with phonetics in almost any language that isn't tonal. I can only truly say I'm fluent in English and German, though. How I have a combination of a Gaelic (Irish) and Russian accent filtered through years of American English speech therapy is a whole different story that I may tell some day. . .I may not. Idk if anyone would be interested in hearing that story and it's nothing I'd want to write for myself and that's all this diary is---writing for MYSELF and pure self gratification and a way to keep track of memories. So. . .there'd be no point unless someone specifically requests I tell it.

Anyways, since my first name is standard Gaelic and my last name is standard Russian. . .my Russian accent usually slips out heavily if I'm talking fast and when I'm saying my surname, which is 4 syllables, I say it the Russian way. Which is not phonetic for English spellers at all...tbh. And I forget that I'm supposed to be slow about it and really think about my accent when pronouncing my last name and spell it immediately afterwards for people. . .but I was in such a frenzy that the very typical "I'm sorry, what?" reaction is what I got when I said my name. Luckily, she caught onto my first name. Some people in America can't even do THAT. What is so hard about the name Killian??? Jeeze.

Vincent picked up the line as the woman was saying "I'm sorry, what?" when I spoke my last name a wee bit too quickly and a wee bit too Russian...y. Lol. So she immediately switched to focusing on the phone. "Hey, Vinny. I have a kid here who says his name is, uh, Killian. He says he needs to speak to you in the lobby here and that it's urgent." She started nodding and I grabbed my own car keys (and other keys) that were clipped to a lanyard that was around my neck (which is how I never lose my car keys) and I started jingling them as loudly as possible between the glass barrier between us to remind her of the keys I needed Vincent to bring with him. THANK FUCK she noticed. I probably looked frantic. . . "OH! He's asking if you can bring your car keys, too... Yeah, uh huh. I don't really know. He just says it's really urgent." She eyed me and smiled and winked at me, giving me a thumbs up as she said "Okay, thank you, Vinny." and hung up the phone. "He's coming down right now. You can just wait over there in the chair by the door or wherever you'd like. He will be coming through those doors." She pointed to a set of two large, swinging doors that led into a part of the ER.

I stood up painfully, but tried very hard to mask the expression of pain as I sucked in a sharp breath through my clenched teeth and locked jaw. I managed to walk normally over to the other chair and collapse into it, sliding down in it as if it were a recliner.

'So. . .he makes everyone call him Vinny or at least by his first name, huh. Even his colleagues. That's a little weird. . .' I thought to myself. Albeit I thought It was a genuinely weird and unprofessional thing to do ---especially for a psychiatrist who looked to be in his 40's or late, late 30's just with really young features and a really young soul, if that makes sense (I forget if I ever learned his actual age in the past or during any of this or since all this)---I also thought it was rather cool and unique to be so boldly quirky and so comfortable with yourself that you could ask your colleagues and patients alike to call you by a common nickname and not even just a first name. To not be on a first name basis. . .but to be on a NICKNAME basis? It made the immediate connection with him a lot easier and a lot stronger. I must admit, I did notice that.

I thought about these things, kind of drifting off into a tangent in my head. . .about how alike Vincent and I were in the bold category. . .how neither of us seemed to care what anyone thought and how we both did/said whatever we wanted to whenever we wanted to whenever we wanted to to whoever we wanted to. It was very rare for me to meet anyone as openly audacious as I am.

As I was thinking this, the doors swung open and a very slightly breathless Vincent came jogging out to door, coming to halt in front of me and whipping around to face me, car keys in hand. He looked very concerned and the jovial, almost cherubic expression he usually wore was wiped off his face. He grabbed me by the shoulders and squeezed, looking deep into my eyes. "What's wrong?" His voice was filled to the brim with worry. I hadn't meant to cause that effect on him. . .but in that moment. . .I realized I could use the panic he was feeling that had been induced by my call to urgency and my odd request for him to bring his car keys to my advantage. Sinister Killian was back in play, but not enough to where I would give it away by my voice and my tone and words in general or posture. If he knew how my eyes changed from that stormy grey to that spine-chilling, icy silver when I get into this mood, he would notice that, but you don't really notice that unless you've been around me for a long time and actually pay attention. I definitely switched and snapped on him, though, because the sinister side of me realized I could take such advantage of his panicking. . .

I faked a few sniffles and tried to quickly pull up my bank account on my phone to show him it had been drained and show him the transaction that proved it was my mother. As I showed it to him, I tried to force my hand to shake a little sniffled a little more as if I were holding back tears or something. I'm a great actor when I need to be. . .but I had never tried acting and manipulating someone (ESPECIALLY not a professional in the psych field) when in so much physical pain. I had never BEEN in such physical pain before, tbh. So this was all new to me. I was numb to feelings, almost. Not emotions, just. . .feelings. I couldn't make myself cry on command by thinking about my dog dying like normal or quickly going through all the reasons of why I'm the most ugly, fat, worthless human being on the planet. It wasn't working. So I went with sniffling and cocking my head to the side and closing my eyes as though really concentrating. "My mom drained my account. I have no money. I have to get back to my car somehow and I have to do it before the pharmacy closes...which, is very soon. . ." The words were real and surprisingly, the trembling in my voice was real, too. I tried to make it sound like it was from emotional distress rather than homicidal thoughts, though. "The physical pain is so intense. . .I could barely even make it back inside. My car isn't far at all and I was just going to take a lyft, but...I have no money..." Which, was a lie, seeing as I had a 100 dollar bill on me. But you can't exactly pay for lyft or uber with cash. He looked down at me, taking his hands off my shoulders and nodded slowly, understanding.

"And you wanted to see if I could drive you to your car?" His voice was a little less worried now.

I needed to bring him back into a panic of sorts. I needed him to trust me. Something. So, I corrected him with my quick thinking, "You're the only one I trust enough to ask for a ride... I've been in...." I paused, looking down at my feet, shrinking in the chair. "...situations..." I don't know if he caught on to the fact that I had not only been raped, but I had also almost been sold into sex trafficking so I was wary of getting into a car with someone I didn't trust. . .even if they were credible people. He was smart enough to catch onto one of those implications, if not both. They were both true. I wasn't lying. In fact, I was surprising myself with the fact that I wasn't really lying about anything other than my tone of voice.

I was doing all of this to reach two goals:
A) To get to my car to get the script filled in time to have the exact order of suicide attempt I had planned out work correctly with nothing to make me wonder if I was going to break and call 911 or tell someone. If I did all the things in the correct order that I had planned, I knew I would finally get through it. Because I was finally at peace with death. . .I was finally ready. . .I was finally GENUINELY HAPPY with my decision to end it. And...
B) To convince Vincent that I was feeling a normal level of distress that anyone would feel after just having such a fight their mother and after just having their mother drain their bank account. To show him and prove to him that I experienced emotions normally and could control my emotions just like anyone else in this world. By showing him the appropriate amount of distress and sadness (NOT crossing into depression AT ALL. Had to be VERY careful about the distinct difference in wording and tonality. . .which was hard as I have had major depressive disorder and suicidal ideation along with self harm urges my entire life. ) I basically had to convince someone who read people's emotions and analyzed people for a living that I wasn't feeling this blissful, carefree, euphoric high I was feeling at the prospect of finally being free. If someone just had everything that happened to me happen to them. . .and then showed signs of euphoria and peace and a sort of finality to their wording and actions and gazes. . .that would be suspicious to a NORMAL person, nevertheless a psych who read me quite accurately the very first time he met me with very minimal meeting. Vincent was good at his job. . .I could tell he was. He was not only good, but he genuinely cared and wasn't in it for the money like most psychs are. Hell, I wanna say "all", tbh. Why go into a pseudo-science if not for the money?

I basically was trying EXTREMELY hard to convince him of my purely normal emotional reaction to everything that happened. . .implying that I was going to head to a friends house or somewhere else to spend the night after I got my script and the only reason I was getting my script tonight and in such a hurry to get it was because of how intense the pain was. All of THAT....was a lie. I had to convince him I was NOT a danger to myself or others. . .which I most certainly was both in that moment.

I continued on rather hastily, not letting him get a word in as time was growing shorter and shorter. I HAD to get that script filled that night. . .I HAD to end it before midnight that night. I HAD to not make it to 2018. I absolutely had to get this script filled.....

"My car is about a 5 minute drive from here, maybe less. It's barely even that, honestly. If you don't have time to drive me, maybe could you help me pay for a lyft and I could pay you back or like give you something of mine as collateral so you'd know I'd have to pay you back? Let's see, I've got, uhm...uhm..." I started frantically going through my things when I felt a cool hand on my own.

"Stop. I don't need any money from you, Killian. And I have time to give you a ride. I'm not the only psych on call tonight since it's a holiday. . .I'm just the best." He winked and flashed me a smile as he stood up straight and offered his hand to me to help me get up. A wave of relief washed over me. Stage one, complete. Now I just had to get through a 5 minute or less drive with him and continue to be convincing the entire way and I was home free, so to speak. I quickly zipped everything up and took his hand while swinging my backpack around my shoulder and picking up all my other things in one fell swoop of an arm. Having a hand to tug on to get up was actually really helpful. I worried I may have actually hurt him by grasping his hand so tightly and actually, legitimately using him to pull myself up. 'Then again,' I thought to myself, 'It further convinces him of the genuine need for this lortab script to get killed literally this night right now.'

We got to his car, me trying to keep up with him. He wasn't tall, persay, but he definitely wasn't short. I am considered short, at 5'4". I'm sure he was at least 5'7" or 5'8", now that I was standing right next to him. Since I have really tall friends who are like literally an entire foot taller than me. ..it's easy for me to guesstimate heights based on their height and my height and what the other persons height is relative to ours.

Not surprising to me, he drove an expensive looking sports car that didn't have a single scratch on it. I couldn't tell the make, model, or colour in the dark but when I got inside, it was actually pretty roomy for a 2-door and was quite comfortable and drove very smoothly...unlike my car...which is cramped as fuck for a 2-door which is actually how 2-doors are supposed to be tbh, CAN be comfortable but too many things are broken for it to be immediately comfortable just by sitting in it, and my car has front wheel drive with tires that skid on rain and every tiny little bump feels like car is going to jump 2 feet in the air and it's so low to the ground that you have to go over certain areas at an angle and VERY slowly. Needless to say, his car was probably a recently made one whereas mine is from 2010 and has been scratched up and crashed and totaled so many times that too many things in my car are either broken or just too difficult to work. It was rather nice being in such an obviously new, comfortable car. . .especially with it being a 2-door sports car. Exactly the kind of car I'm into and the kind I drive myself.

He wasn't driving fast, which worried me a little. In fact, he was noticeably going under the speed limit. I leaned over ever so slightly to check the speedometer to make sure I wasn't crazy and this wasn't just one of those cars that FELT like we were going super slow but were really going fast. I wasn't crazy. He was going slower than the speed limit. . . I was about speak up and ask why the fuck but then he interrupted me entirely and said, "You know what, I don't feel comfortable letting you just drive off on your own right now." He whipped the car around in the opposite direction and sped up to 5 over the speed limit or so. . .an appropriate speed. . .back into the city. "We're going to walgreens. I believe they're open right now. What kind of insurance do you have?"

I was a little astonished and rather taken aback. This was not what I had in mind...did he know? Had I somehow given it away???

"Uh, medicaid. All access medicaid." I blurted out, simply answering the question, not able to formulate an inqury on why he didn't feel comfortable letting me. . .what exactly did he say. . . "drive off on my own" right now.

He nodded. "Perfect. This script should be 3 dollars or maybe even free. Whatever it may be, I'll pay for it. No worries."

I furrowed my brow. "Wha...you'll pay? Why would you do that?" I hadn't realized that I knew I had a 100 dollar bill on me but I had been concealing it from him. I had totally forgotten at this point. He glanced at me from the drivers side, equally as confused.

"You don't have a cent to your name right now. I got to thinking, even if I drop you off and you get to the pharmacy, how will you pay for the prescription if it isn't free?"

"You could have just given me 3 dollars..." I mumbled, allowing my aggravation at this change in plans to seep through into my tone. Normally, I can't stand sticking to a plan or having a routine or anything. Normally, HAVING a plan sets me off and aggravates me. Normally, a change in plans would make me happy and be a welcome thing. I fucking hate plans and schedules and routines. i can never follow them and they feel so......they make me feel like I'm trapped or locked up.

But my death had a time constraint. . .which required this medication being filled which also had a time constraint. . .that was really stressing me out. Sure, I got to the walgreens faster. As soon as I mumbled my immature little completely ungrateful phrase, we pulled into walgreens and he parked the car. Seeing the car in the light, my jaw dropped. I should have recognized it from the inside because I have test driven these babies every chance I could get. . .because this car. . .is my literal DREAM car. . .just in a different colour. He had a fucking 370z. . .painted a shiny, glittery silver. All I could do was stare with my jaw practically to the floor after we got out.

Vincent came around to my side of the car and bent down to try to match his line of sight with mine. Looked at me, then back to his car, then back to me, confusion furrowing his brow. "What are you looking at?"

"You...You have a 370z............" I managed to squeak, sounding just as starstruck as I felt. Time had stopped for me. Vincent let out a rather loud laugh and stood back up straight to his height.

"Is that all?" He laughed more, grabbing me by the upper arm and making sure I didn't drop the script or my wallet as he dragged me away from my dream car that I will surely never own. "So, you're into sports cars, then. Do you drive one?" He still had a good grip on my upper arm, as though he were leading a child through a store. I was starting to come back to reality and was being struck by the ponderings of 'Why doesn't he trust me all of a sudden?' "I drive a bright blue 2010 Kia Forte Koup SX. . .but she's been through hell and has a few battle wounds that I don't think I will ever be able to afford to get fixed." I was still on the topic of why he still had a tight grip on my arm as we were almost to the back of the store at the pharmacy now in my head. Why the hell was he treating me like a child? Was he bitter over my ungrateful, childish comment about him paying a mere 3 dollars for my medications? I was starting to silently wonder if I should apologize as Vincent handed over the script to the pharmacist and looked at me expectantly. The pharmacist was looking at me, too. Had they asked me a question?

OH! My insurance and ID, probably, I scrambled to get both out of my wallet and forked them over to the pharmacist. Vincent briefly let go of me while I did this. . .but as soon as I had my ID and medicaid card back in my wallet and I was told the wait time would be about 10-15 minutes, he immediately grabbed hold of my wrist as though it were a makeshift leash and brought me over to that small waiting area. It was nice and secluded in the corner in a darker part of the store. He practically pushed me into a chair and sat down in a seat where he could pull it right up in front of me and those forest green eyes just bore into my fucking soul. I don't know what he was looking for exactly, but he locked eye contact with me and barely even blinked as he narrowed his eyes and tilted his head ever so slightly to the side.

I blinked a few times, baffled. In my mind, 'He knows, he knows, he knows' was on repeat and the thought of being committed was literally eating me up from the inside out. I bet it was showing on the outside. I bet I was doing that thing where i was trying very hard not to have a panic attack/show that I'm having a panic attack so my eyes go wide and I lose focus on everything in front of me, my lower lip quivers but they stay together, I go stark still except for my chest which is practically in hyperventilation mode. . .I mean I absolutely will not move no matter what. My chest is really the main thing that gives me away because it deff shows I'm hyperventilating. But I have no recollection of whether I was doing any of that or not. He didn't change his reaction towards me, though. His gaze didn't waver. I remember that much.

There was silence for what felt like an eternity. . .before he spoke up. When he did, I realized I wasn't breathing. So I must not have been hyperventilating because I was sort of holding my breath, I suppose. I'm not quite sure as to why. But when he spoke up, I didn't start breathing or let out a breath I was holding. I just wasn't breathing. Period. It felt like I couldn't...or wasn't allowed to.

Vincent said exactly the opposite of what I expected him to say. He spoke very softly and very deliberately, which sounded almost threatening. "Just to let you know, I've got all night, kiddo." His eyes narrowed even moreso, but he still maintained intense eye contract and his expression was unreadable. I felt...intimidated. Was I supposed to feel intimidated? I never feel intimidated by anyone? But, then again, this guy has the power to lock me up in the all-time most traumatizing place to be with the press of a button. . .so maybe that's why I was so intimidated. He knew. I decided to play dumb anyways. I hadn't used the 'play dumb' trick in over a decade. I hadn't done that since childhood. I used to do it all the time in elementary school to get out of things. . .the innocence act. Who wouldn't believe a tiny little blonde haired boy looking up at you with big, grey puppy dog eyes? I was definitely out of practice, though. . .I'm not sure how well I pulled it off, because I was rather aggressive, which I probably shouldn't have been to make it more believable. I'm just. . .always aggressive lately. Everything is making me snap and pop off on people. . .I wish I knew why. . .

I looked him straight in the eyes right back. The key to lying and feigning ignorance is maintaining eye contact without blinking more than normal. "All night for what? They said it would only take 15 minutes, tops, to get my meds filled." I paused. He opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off with something that I was actually hoping he might buy into and go along with. "Actually, you know what, after I get this prescription, you can just leave me here. I really appreciate the ride and everything but my pain will be masked enough with the lortabs that I will be able to walk to my car. I used to walk farther than this in New Orleans just to get coffee in the mornings every day. And my chronic pain doctor told me that exercise is the best treatment for lupus and fibromyalgia, both of which I qualify for. So, I mean, I could use the walk." He perked up, now looking legitimately concerned instead of devious and threatening. The jovial and cherubic attributes in his facial expressions were back, masked under the worry. I cut him off again before he could say anything else. "I really, really do appreciate all of this Dr. V." I gave up on calling him Vincent or Vinny or by his formal last name. Doctor V sounded right. I saw he was about to correct me back to Vinny, but I kept going because I needed to distance myself from someone who genuinely was showing me he cared and supported me irl without me having to do anything to evoke such a feeling. At least, I think it was all genuine. "You're right; I couldn't have paid for the meds myself so I don't know what I was thinking running off to try to do all of this by myself. I'm really glad you caught onto that minute detail because I sure as hell didn't seeing as I was, y'know . . .preoccupied." I immediately jumped on the opportunity to remind him that I was experiencing "normal" emotions and merely "forgot" because I was "preoccupied" with the fight from my mother and my account being drained to 0 when I needed it to do all the things in order to function. And on NYE in particular? Damn, I was handling this SO well, wasn't I? I had to remind him of that: That it was still affecting me, but I was handling it appropriately. I had to reign him back in. Idk when or where or how or why he caught on. . .or what exactly he caught on to or the extent of it, but I put a fucking stop to it right there.

His gaze softened with the word "preoccupied". Good. That was exactly the reaction I was looking for. Maybe he would go for my plan to let me walk back to my car after paying for my medications for me? I had every intention of paying him back, ofc, I just didn't know when that would happen. I had no idea I would be seeing him so damn soon after all this went down...no idea he would become a temporary constant in my life, if that makes sense. I decided to bring the offer up again. Maybe he had forgotten.

"So, uhm, what do you say? Pay for my meds and I'll come pay you back eventually or have my ...[I visibly cringed here] mother. . .pay you back for me with my money. And you let me walk to my car?" I smiled, trying to add some sincerity to my words. As he opened his mouth to respond, I quickly added, "-which is really not that far from here and less walking than I used to do daily for coffee when I lived in New Orleans!"

Vincent smiled pitifully and I knew right then the answer was no and my heart sort of dropped. That meant all the more time for him to figure out my plans.

"I'm sorry, kiddo, but I just can't do that in good conscience. Maybe you've figured it out by now that you're special to me...maybe someday you'll learn those reasons. But I can't let anything happen to you. You're severely underweight and who knows the last time you've eaten something, you're going to be on narcotics that no one should be on without someone else there, which I definitely don't trust you walking around in the dark on, but you also absolutely cannot be driving on them either. . .It's quite dark outside and you're not exactly that strong unless you're hiding some guns under those sleeves that I don't know about." He nodded towards my arms, smiling broadly, flashing me those bright white teeth again. "This is NYE. There are Fireworks. There are celebrations. It's loud out there. You seem to handle those things okay, but what you're not taking into account are two things: One, people drive more recklessly on holidays. You'll be walking more recklessly than usual. That's double the danger right there. And secondly..." A smirk slipped into place on his face as he held up a finger and waggled it as a warning sign in my face, raising his eyebrows for dramatic effect. "...no one can hear you scream."

I thought about that for a second. He definitely wasn't wrong... But then he added an addendum to that.

"And if someone does happen to hear you scream, they will merely think it's part of the celebration." He leaned back in the chair, looking quite pleased with himself and the way he had just presented that information. Again, he wasn't wrong.

I let out an aggravated sigh. There were a million legitimate reasons as to why he wanted to drive me to my car. Wait...he mentioned he didn't want me driving. "Dr. V. . . "

"Vinny."

"...Dr. V, you said you didn't want me driving. if I take these pills, right? So I just. . .I'll wait in agony and take them when I get to where I'm going and-"

"Where exactly are you headed? You're obviously not going back to your mother and father's house."

"Oh, I'm, uh. . ."

The pharmacist called my name. Saved by the fucking bell. I had several places I could go but I wasn't sure I could make it to any of them in the amount of pain I was in. . .and the truth was. . . I didn't want to. I wanted tonight to be the night. I wanted that night to be the end of the line. I was so happy with it and so at peace. I couldn't just quit now. . .I couldn't just give up now. . .

Turns out the lortabs were free because of how few there were and how there were no refills. . .so I ended up not owing Vincent anything at all. . .other than pure gratitude for the ride and for him watching over me like he did.


-------------------


And here........is where I will stop. Because immediately after this is when we dive into the heavy stuff. The actual full descriptive details of one of the oddest suicide attempts of my life. So I guess there will be a part 3. . .and maybe a part 4, too. I'm in too much pain to type anymore. I think my Lyrica ran out while typing,. Lol. Like I said, my memory about this stuff that happened between the fight in the hospital [part 1] and the actual suicide attempt [part 3] are a lot more blurry than the rest of my memories. Part 3 is pretty vivid. Even more vivid than part 1 was. . .so. . .we'll see. I've deff gotta stop typing now, though!




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