Part 2, the day after suicide

The day after

When I awoke, the nurse was changing my bandages. The look in her eyes was sadness and pity. She couldn’t understand how I had given up. I also felt some anger, as if my life belonged to her or she felt what I had done was senseless or just dumb. I wanted to scream at her that it was none of her business. She looked at the wounds on my wrists and just shook her head.

I was told I was to see the Psychritrists. It was obvious I wouldn’t be going home anytime soon. I knew the procedure. It wasn’t like it was the first time I tried to kill myself.

The Psychritists came into the room and sat down. He was a nice looking guy. I had doctors who were really bitchy and made me feel confrontational. He said he just wanted to talk. My hospital records indicated I had been there before. He asked me if I had ever been put on any medication. If I had ever been diagnosed as depressive. I told him no, because every time I found some way out of the situation.

The other attempted suicides I kinda played light. I thought I was just being dramatic. And when I ended up in the hospital, I just made a lot of jokes and tried to explain to the doctors it wasn’t as serious as they thought. I would say I just took too many pills or I would say , I would just trying to get attention, and I use big words and smile a lot and they usually let me go home in a day.

But that time was different. The wounds were cut too deep to say I was just playing. It was obvious I was serious. But I had fears of being diagnosed. I stayed away from therapists. My mother was crazy, so I had fears of becoming her one day. When I was a kid they told me I was going to grow up crazy.

But I couldn’t run anymore. The cat was out of the bag. I wasn’t doing so well with my life. I thought to myself, that maybe I was crazy. I got scared. I thought they would test me and then put me in a mental institution for the rest of my life.

The doctor said he wanted me to stay in the hospital for a couple of weeks. He said he wanted to run some tests on me, talk some more, get to the bottom of my recent break down.

I knew right then, it was more than just me acting out. It was more than just me having a lousy childhood. Something was really wrong with me. I needed to figure it out. I didn’t want to go back into the world if I didn’t figure it out.

Part 3, Getting processed into the Psyc Ward

Suicide, part 1

September 16, 2007, I tried to kill myself again. I took some pills I knew I was highly allergic and sliced my wrists with a box cutter. I ask myself why, but mostly because I was sick. My drinking had increased exponentially. I was drinking a liter of rum a day. I didn’t know I was bipolar and I kept having intense mood swings. Some days I be high as a kite, so happy, and invincible and then some days I be so low that I couldn’t get out of bed for days. Those days it was like I was so afraid of the world. It was like I knew somebody was coming to get me and do something bad to me, so I coward under the covers. I was convinced somebody was waiting outside the door and the only way I could deal the fear, was drink. Alcohol gave me courage to go outside but it also kept me a prisoner.

The day I tried to kill myself my mood changed really dark. I felt as if I was already dead. I felt as if my life was nothing. I felt like a joke, that everyone just saw me as a joke or cheap entertainment. I had fallen apart. All the insecurities I’d been dealing with since childhood finally clawed me apart. I felt as if I was walking around with my insides handing out, claw wounds on my face, open flesh. I just felt as if I was constantly bleeding to death. And then it happened. I did something real stupid. My neighbor caught me and some guy I just met on the street making out in the hallway at 4 in the morning. I was embarrassed. He made such a scene about it. I was embarrassed because I felt it made me look like I was less than human. Not because the act was homosexual, but because I was acting like an untrained dog. I didn’t even know that guy, just picked him up on the way home. And I was embarrassed because I was staying with my ex, and it was just one more thing another neighbor was going to report the landlord. Everybody in the apartment building looked at me as a crack head, like I had no morals or self-respect. And I didn’t.

So after the scene in the hallway, I went upstairs to the apartment. I felt devastated. I felt as if my ex was going to kick me out of the streets and I had no money, no job, no friends, nothing. I was completely broke: emotionally, spiritually and financially. I just didn’t want to live anymore. I felt as if I couldn’t save me. I just didn’t know how to get out of the hell I created for myself. And my mind was short circuited. I couldn’t understand why I constantly shut down. I couldn’t understand why I was so depressed all the time. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t stop drinking and drugging. Nothing felt good anymore, not even sex. Everything had just become a blur and I could feel the trainwreck coming.

So I tried to kill myself. I guess I was checking out early because it was inevitable I was going to get myself killed. When I woke up in the hospital, there was a peace over me. I knew I wouldn’t die. It sounds arrogant but I knew I wouldn’t die. I thought maybe I just needed attention. And then I thought, maybe I should’ve taken more pills.

When I woke up in the hospital, I felt safe. I knew I belonged. I was sick. I wanted help. I needed help. I knew I needed help and I wasn’t going to fight it. I was tired of pretending like everything was okay. I had reached my breaking point. I was ready to explain.

Part 2, the day after suicide.

A new year, a new me!!!!!

I know it’s a little late in the year, well it’s only been a couple of weeks for 2008, but I’ve decided to do my New Year resolution.

As I reflect back on 2007, a lot of good and bad happened. Well it became quite obvious that my mental and addictive problems surfaced and exploded. The good that came out of 2007, I finally was diagnosed and got the help I needed. I finally started dealing with my alcoholism and drug addiction. I finally woke up and realized I was fucking up my life.

The bad that happened in 2007, because I was at my worse and getting worse, I fucked up a lot of relationships. I burned a lot of bridges that could’ve helped my creative career. I wasn’t focused and still lost. I sort of feel in 2008 as if I’m starting over as a writer. I thought what I initially wanted: the book deal, fame, respect, money wasn’t so easy. I thought the industry would just open up its arms and let me in. I realized I still got a long way to go as a writer, well to be the type of writer I want to be.

In 2008, I will begin to take my writing a little more serious. I think I will send out more. I only sent out a couple of things in 2007. I didn’t even look for an agent in 2007.

I guess in 2008, I want to change the direction of my pathos. I don’t want to talk about my party lifestyle anymore but focus on the mental health issues I suffer and addiction.

I also want to explore more of my alter-comedienne personality “Lazy Cheap Bastard.”

I guess this is where I am now. I need to make sure to continually remain present. I have a thing of escaping. I need to make sure to continue to speak up for myself. I have to keep myself grounded when it comes to temptation. I also need to remain positive because I’m very discouraged and self-loathing.

Some people say they want a better life, I mean it. I know it isn’t going to be easy.




I write this for you. You who will come looking like I did when the world was enough anymore. I used to ask myself if I can save myself. I knew I couldn’t be saved, because I refused any help. I knew I was the only one who could stop the madness. Yet, I wasn’t done with punishing myself. I wasn’t done with the pain I lived with since I’ve known consiouness.

I felt that pain was the only thing that loved. I knew I could trust the pain because it was predictable. I was afraid of knowing anything different because the pain told me so many lies. It told me nobody would ever love me. It told me I was a freak and should remain in darkness. It told me because all the shit that had happened to me that I was always going to be angry and just drive everyone away. The pain made distrust people. It make me keep my distance. The pain squash my dreams. It kept me a prisoner. I used to ask myself if I could save myself. If I could escape. But the pain was inside of me.

Recovery is not an easy process. I know I probably never be healed, but I can be better. When I think of recovery, I know most people go straight to “rehab” or the symptoms like alcoholism or any addiction. But I know recovery is a lot deeper than that. It goes back to birth. I was going to have to retrace my steps back to God.

After I was 37 days sober, I could finally start seeing my life. I had to get far enough from alcohol, sex and drugs in order to see how I was really hurt. It’s like getting in a car accident, in the beginning because of the shock, medication and hospital, the person doesn’t know how much they are really injured. Some people break legs, arms or ribs. Some people have to learn how to function again. It isn’t until a month or two into physical therapy that some people reazlied that recovery isn’t so easy. People begin losing their faith. It’s hard to stay optimistic.

In my recovery, some days I just want to give up. I think it’s too hard. I fear relapsing most days. I fear going back to what I used to be. I fear losing my job. I fear I won’t be able to put a decent life together because of my past and everything I did.

But that’s the recovery process. I will not win any awards because recovery is about life not a destination. And there are so many things working against me. I’m bipolar, schizophrenic and a maniac depressive. I’m also a compulsive liar and suffer from multiple personalities. It’s all stems from a very abusive and negligent childhood, but as an adult the wounds I carry sometimes don’t want to heal.

So where do I begin? I want to begin with the psych ward. No, I want to begin with why I tried to kill myself, again.

growing up: watch me

why don't you want me

you wanted me to change
so i changed for you
six years old watching the cosby show
hopoing someday i can do shakespeare
or have family values
when mama was on the corner smoking crack
nigga children dreams
like dafur
had this alibino wanting to know my pain
like it's stamps to mailed for communication
so tired of being angry
couldn't it be easier if we just accept the pain
and happiness
and accept it all as love

again

I was reading Gary Zukav’s “Mind of a Soul” today and the message of choice stuck with me. It is as if choice is creation. That what we ch0ose or do not choose we are creating our own reality.

I had to put the book down for a minute. I knew I was the type that didn’t like to make choices. I just wanted life to happen somehow in my favor. And when I think of all the chaos that has happened to me over the last decade, I would say I didn’t choose any of it. But I did choose by not choosing. I have always been afraid to decide, thinking somehow or another I’d make the wrong decision and pay the consequences. I figure if I let others make my decisions, and then I could just blame them in the end. My latest drama is very much an example of that. If I would’ve trusted my own instincts and not listened to others, I would not be homeless. But now I have to deal with the consequence no matter what.

I was thinking to myself earlier that for some reason I’m really calm in crisis. It’s when it’s quiet that I start acting up or out. The thought scared me because I thought my life’s goal was to get to a place of no more drama. Yet, I still have a need for it.

Where am I going? What am I doing? Why am I still writing? What is it that I want? Do I still want it? Is the passion still there? Does anymore care. Do I even care? I have all those questions going on in my head.

But I know I still got something to say. I haven’t said it yet. It’s been so unfocused. It’s been so distracted.

i miss my mama

Mama's Medicine


Shawn are you listening?

I have a question to ask you. How do you get to Sesame Street? I don't know. I asked Mama and she say follow the yellow brick road. She crazy. She know there aint no yellow brick road. Cause if there was she know she be trying to pawn it. She and her stupid head boyfriend. I hate him. He make Mama do nasty things. I saw them both in the alley on their knees making Rice and Patrick moan. Rice like Mama stupid head boyfriend. He call him his Bitch. I call him a Bitch and Mama slaps me in the mouth. I saw Rice kiss his lips. Mama stupid head boyfriend don't like that. Grandma say he show is a pretty nigga, cause he have green eyes and everything, but she say he ain't worth the pot he pissed in. You ask me he ain't even worth the piss. I asked Mama what do Rice and her stupid head boyfriend do in the backroom, and why do he make so much noise, and why do she sit outside the door? She slapped me in the mouth and told me to shut up.

I love Mama, but she's sick. She always shaking. She always talking about that she need her medicine. Sometimes I have to hold the belt real tight so that she can take her medicine. I love my Mama. I wish she get better so she can play with me like she use to. I pray every night that Mama stop shaking. I don't like it when she is shaking real bad because the big bad man won't give her no medicine, cause she ain't got no money. When I grow up I'm going to be rich and buy my Mama all the medicine she need.


Shawn,
This ugly fat boy in my class said once that my Mama was a crack head. I told him he a damn lie! He say yes she is because his uncle sold my Mama some drugs because she had sold him some food stamps and sucked his dick. I told him he a damn lie! He say that I'm a crack baby and all the kids started laughing. I don't like it when the kids laugh at me Shawn. It makes me sad and all I want to do is cry but I don't cause I ain't no punk.
I told them, "I don't know why you laughing cause your Mamas get welfare to. All you bitches Mamas get food stamps." They stop laughing. The ugly fat boy then said that my Mama sold her food stamps that's why we don't have any food. I told him he a damn lie! They start laughing and calling me a crack baby. I got mad. I told them "fuck you" and ran far away. I told Mama what they said and she laughed. She say," don't worry about it baby." But I ain't no crack baby! Just because I shake sometimes don't mean that I'm a crack baby, and my Mama ain't on no crack either. She sick. She need the medicine that man give her so that she will get better. She's going to get better and take me to the park so we can play like we use to. I don't care what them nappy head black kids say. What the fuck they know! They don't know shit. I waited for that fat nappy head boy after school. I hid in the bushes. I waited and waited and when I saw the top of his fat nappy head as he walked by, I picked up the biggest rock I could find and hit him in his fat nappy ass head. He ran home crying. I laughed.

Shawn, sometimes I dream like dolphins.

I dream about Sesame Street. I hate living in this house. I want to go to Sesame St. because I love Bigbird and Elmo. I want to go live with Bigbird sometimes when Mama hits me when she don't have her medicine. If I was to go to Sesame St, I would sing the Sesame Street songs everyday because it comes on almost everyday. I would visit Oscar the Grouch and he won't be mean cause he my friend. I would count with Count Dracula and he won't bite me cause he ain't no real vampire like on scary TV. I could stay with Ernie and Bert and we play games everyday. Shawn, it would be so fun.

Shawn,
I hate it sometimes sleeping on the floor. My friend down the street sleep in a bed. He came to my house and laughed. We ain't friends no more. This house is cold too much Shawn. I don't have the blanket that Grandma gave us for Christmas anymore because Mama sold it. I had to use the sheet that Mama stupid head boyfriend pissed on. He nasty too much. I asked Mama to wash it and she say wait to tomorrow. I waited to tomorrow but she never washed it. So I washed it myself with ivory soap and now it smell good. When I think about it I hate all Mama's friends. They come in and out late at night and I can't sleep. I told Mama I couldn't sleep and she say shut up and go to bed.

Shawn,
I want to go to school today but I can't. I passed out the other day at school. I was at the board doing a math problem and my head started hurting and then I couldn't breathe. I was so hungry that day because it was a Monday and Mama don't cook on weekends. She never really cooks. When I fell to the floor the kids laughed at me but my teacher didn't. My teacher like me and she say I smart. She also say I number one in my class. She told me one day that I'm so pretty to be so dark. What that suppose to mean? I asked her and she said nothing. She meant something. I told her I ain't pretty but handsome like my grandma say. I told Grandma what she said and she said," that white bitch don't know what she talking about." Mama calls her the crazy white bitch. But I like my teacher. She bought food to the house that day I passed out at the board. Mama didn't like that but she still asked her for money and my teacher gave her a twenty and Mama was real happy. She gave her a hug and everything and told her that God will bless her. I laughed.

Shawn,
My teacher is so nice to me but she ask too many questions. Questions I know my Mama wouldn't like. She want to know what my Mama do for a living. I say "nothing." She want to know if we get food stamps. I say "no." I told her we rich. I ain't like those other black nappy head kids. I told her my Daddy own a company and he buy me things. I told her that he going to buy me a bike for my next birthday. I be ten. I told her my Mama love my Daddy. She asked me where my Daddy at. I say in Europe. I saw this girl once on Sesame Street and she talked real funny and she was from London, Europe. I looked it up on the map. She was pretty that girl from London. I want to go to London one day and visit her. She my friend.
My teacher told me to bring my Father to the "show and tell" one day. I told her I can't because he don't like kids, and that he sure ain't going to like those black nappy head kids in my class. I told her my father was white and black, that he mixed. I told her he just look white. I told her my Father is just like Bill Cosby and my family is just like the Cosby's kids. I wish sometimes I was a Cosby kid. Then I have a Dad and a Mom. Rudy's Mama on the Cosby show is never shaking and she never hits her. I don't see her in the alley on her knees. She doesn't need any medicine and if she did Bill Cosby is a Doctor so he can fix her and she want shake anymore. I love Bill Cosby and the Cosby's kids. They my friends.

Shawn why my daddy dead?
Mama said he died when I was four. Why he have to die? My Mama hated him. She always thinking that he is in the house. She say she can feel him. She say I smile just like my Daddy and then hits me in the head. A man killed my Daddy my Grandma say. My Daddy tried to rob this man and he killed my Daddy. I'm going to kill that man when I grow up. I'm going to buy a gun at Big Tim's house around the corner and kill that man. I told my Mama this. She laughed. She say my black ass Daddy better off dead. She say that man did her a favor. She say if my Daddy hadn't died he would have killed her. That explains them black long marks on her back. She say my Daddy was a evil black bastard, with eyes that cut like knifes and hands that never stop loving her and when he died she danced on his grave. I think Mama crazy sometimes. Mama say I look just like his blackass. I tell her I love my Daddy. She say you sure is stupid to be so smart. She say at least we get a check every month because my blackass daddy died. What check? She spends up all the check every time it comes getting her medicine from Rice. My Mama stupid-head boyfriend laughs when my Mama talks about my Daddy. I hate him. I hate his eyes. I hate his face. I hate that he breathes. When I get older, I'm going to buy me a gun from big Tim's house around the corner and kill my Mama stupid head boyfriend.

Shawn, guess what I broke my leg last week.

My mama stupid head boyfriend left me alone at the bottom of the stairs. It hurt. I cried loud from the bottom of the stairs. My Mama didn't hear me, and she never came because she was in the alley. A old man took me to the hospital. I seen him before. He comes by often and he and Mama go to the bathroom, and he moans and yells and then he leaves. I don't know what he and Mama do in that bathroom but he gives me a dollar when he comes out. I like him. He found me at the bottom of the stairs. Mama wasn't home so he took me to the hospital. He sat in the hospital with me, stroking my forehead as the Black doctor just like Bill Cosby put on my cast. I asked him was he a Cosby kid and he laughed. I don't know why he laughed cause it was a serious question. I told him when I grow up I'm going to be just like him. He smiled and signed my cast and my name as Dr. Jamal Wilson. The man who brought me to the hospital smiled. The nurse lady made me take off my shirt. I didn't want to take off my shirt. She took it off anyway. I was mad. She asked me how did I get all those marks on my back. I say, "I dunno kno?" I didn't want to tell her my Mama sometimes get mad when she don't get her medicine but my Mama loves me. She just need her medicine and the man won't give it to her because she have no money. She can't sell nothing because everything is sold. She cries sometimes when she can't get her medicine. I hate to see Mama cry. I cry to. I cry because she hits me. I hate it when she hits me. She real angry when she don't get her medicine and I only make her more angry when I tell her I'm hungry. The lady wouldn't understand. I tell her nothing. The doctor asked me how I broke my leg. I told him I fell. I lied. I hate my Mama stupid head boyfriend. He pushed me down the stairs. I accidentally made him drop his medicine and he pushed me down the stairs. I told my Mama later on and she did nothing. She didn't even say nothing. I should have told that Doctor and he would have told the police and my Mama stupid head boyfriend would have went to jail.

Sometimes Shawn, I miss you real bad that it hurts my stomach.

I miss how we used to play. Remember when we used to play toy war with G.I. Joe toys that we stole from Kenneth's house around the corner. And we used to also pretend that we were Thunder Cats and sword fight with the swords that you beat up Billy for. I loved it when we use to wrestle and we used to fight. You were my best friend Shawn and my big brother. You always took up for me when these nappy head kids tried to beat me up. You was always there. I remember when we use to stay up late at night at Grandma's house and talk about stuff. I remember when you taught me how to steal cause you could steal real good. You never got caught either. Everyday when you came home from school you would bring me candy that you stole from Stop n Go. I miss you a lot. It didn't matter either that we had different Daddies and Mama didn't know where your Daddy went. She said that nigga disappeared when she told him that she was pregnant. You didn't need a Daddy. Mama never got over your death. She still look at your picture and cry sometimes. You were only four years older than me and taller but we still look a like having different Daddies. I remember when they found your body in the streets. Grandma didn't want to tell me. She said you were sleep but you wouldn't wake up Shawn. Grandma said that bullet was meant for someone else and not you. Mama should have never sent you to the back to get her medicine. Grandma still haven't forgiven Mama for doing that. She told Mama to never send us back there were all the drug dealers are, but you and I both know that Mama need her medicine. Grandma wouldn't understand. Remember when Grandma once tried to take us but my Mama stole us back. I wish Grandma would have took us far away then you will be still alive and we can play like we used to. Shawn I wish things were different. I wish you were alive. Shawn, what does it feel like to be dead? Does it hurt? I hope not. Shawn, I wish Mama was better. She keep taking her medicine but she ain't getting no better. I'm just tired Shawn. I'm so tired of going to bed to gunshots and police sirens. I'm tired of getting laughed at when I go to school because I stink and my clothes are dirty cause Mama don't wash them. I just wish I was normal, like the Cosby kids. I wish I had a normal family and we play and had fun like the families do on TV. I wish I was at Sesame St. were it is clean and safe. Shawn, I was watching Sesame St. the other day and I swear Bigbird spoke to me. He said my name. Bigbird wants me to come to Sesame St. and live with him. But I don't know how to get there. I really want to go.

Shawn, I'm so sad today and it's raining.

I don't want to think about what I have to do today. I just don't want to think. I just want to go back to sleep and dream about cotton candy, rollercoaster and you Shawn. I want to go to school and do math problems at the board and talk to my teacher cause I like school. I hate this world. I hate that my Grandma been crying all week talking about she should've raised my Mama right. I hate that my Mama is dead. The man sold her bad medicine and she died. I found her shaking and white stuff was coming out of her mouth and her stupid head boyfriend just ran away. I tried to clean her up like I always do, like you taught me to do, but she stop moving Shawn. She even went to the bathroom on herself. She wouldn't wake up. She was real bad. I ran to the payphone to call 911. They came and I didn't want them to see Mama like that, cause she went to the bathroom on herself. They didn't even want to touch her. They put on white gloves. They kept slapping her face, and banging on her chest, and I just got so mad. I started hitting them for hitting my Mama like that. They held me down, and I was crying and cursing, but they wouldn't let me go. They took her. I called Grandma and told her they took her, and when we went to go get Mama, they said we couldn't. Grandma started crying, saying Mama wasn't coming home with us, because she's dead. How she going to die when her medicine was suppose to make her better. Shawn, I think she was taking the wrong medicine. She had to. Grandma keep saying it's going to be alright. She's lying. She know my Mama is dead and it ain't going to be alright! How Grandma going to lie like that. Everyone is always dying. You dead, my Daddy dead and now my Mama dead. I asked Grandma when I am going to die and she start crying again. I wish I was crying with Grandma. Then I won't feel bad. I'm just tired of crying. Shawn I want to die. Then we will all be in heaven and we can play together and go to the park in heaven. I wonder is there a park in heaven. Is there a park in heaven?

Shawn?
I wish I was at Sesame St. with Big Bird and Elmo because they would know what to do. We will sing songs, count, do the alphabet and math problems. We will go to the park and swim, bike, play football and skate, and then we will go back to Sesame St. and visit all the other people. We would have fun and then I wouldn't have to go to my Mama's funeral. I wouldn't have to see my Mama dead. I wouldn't have to cry. I have to go now Shawn. Grandma is calling me and I have to get ready. Grandma bought me a suit to wear and she say I look just like grandpa. I wish you were here so that I could hug you and we could play with our G.I Joe toys. I miss you so much that it hurt too bad that I can't breath sometimes.

Shawn will you do me a favor, promise me if you see Mama in heaven to tell her I love her and I miss her. Tell my Daddy to that I love him and I miss him even if I don't remember him. Also Shawn, could you asked Jesus how do you get to Sesame St. and if he knows please, pretty please ask him to tell me so that I can go. That is all Shawn, I love you.

I let go

Dying
I let go
That which was killing me
Myself
I let go
Pain, suffering and anger
I let go
And when I get free
I'm free to form my own shape
No more mistakes
I am perfect
I am the reflection of God
so I let go of anything that tells me different
I let go
Of shame and pride
And I'm no longer afraid to cry
To be real, feel or be flawed
Because I let go
To get free
To love me
To get closer to truth
To remember roots
So I let go
Got to love me
Got to accept me
So I let go
To fall
To fly
To be
I am free