I ran head long into the sliding glass door and when my head struck the glass the entire door popped from it's frame and fell flat into the backyard. I stood dumbstruck and she laughed uncontrollably at my failure. Then I ate a bottle of pills. Ritalin. Thirty two of them. I counted each one while the space between my breaths magnified. I layed down on the bed and patiently waited. The kids came and I said goodbye and they asked me if they could have some candy. In a few minutes she came into the room and sensing something was wrong hurried the children out.
"What did you take, she asked?"
I pointed to the bathroom and the drama of it all started to take hold of me. She began to scream and cry and ran to the telephone. I could hear her talking about me. About my emergency. When they arrived they didn't like me. I had inflicted damage to myself and maybe someone else had to die because they couldn't be there so I was wasting their time with my selfishness. I wouldn't cooperate and now they disliked me more. I clinched my mouth but their anger convinced me I was to be saved. There was a Jesus and he was a plastic tube forced down my throat as my heart raced.
Fear gripped me but not fear of dying; only the unpleasant thought that even though I was going to make it, my life was over. I went to the hospital. She came to visit but only as her duty. She was my wife. It was plain I was dead to her. I had been given coffee in the hospital and now was manic and loudly speaking my thoughts to her embarrassment. She would never forgive me I thought. She never did.
This content is owned By Ron Andrew O'Daniels
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