One more day and you won’t survive.
I think I almost died last night/this morning.
I really think I did.
I was tired, but couldn’t sleep. My head hurt, and I was horribly anxious.
So I snuck into my mother’s room and stole two oxycontin. I downed them without second thoughts.
I had forgotten that about an hour earlier, I took a xanax.
Xanax + Oxy = a big no-no.
Everything was fine, and I went to sleep around 4.
The sleep was awful.
Oxy apparently makes you itch horribly (another thing I did not know), so I spent the entire night waking up and scratching the fucking shit out of myself until sometimes, I bled. I thought there were bugs crawling all over me.
I had nightmare after nightmare; people ripping off my nails, my getting lost in China, being eaten by a horriffic cannibal… I can’t even remember the others, thankfully.
When I woke up today, it was 4pm. I slept for 12 straight hours like that.
I stood up to get a drink (cotten mouth is horrible) and promptly fell over and cracked my head on a bookshelf.
Sweating buckets, shaking like I was having a grand-mal seizure, and barely breathing, I called my dad.
I confessed having taken the pills and told him to call an ambulence.
He shushed me and said I was only having a panic attack. The pills had been out of my system for a few hours.
I thought my head would split open. I was warbling incoherantly and crying and begging him to come home.
Never had I been so scared in my life.
He talked me down, and lulled me back to sleep.
I woke up an hour ago.
I am still weak, shaky and sleepy… but I am alive.
I can’t help but wonder though, as I assure my dad that I didn’t take the pills to harm myself… was I trying to die?
