I’m not sure how I’m going to tell this story, and I know that by saying that I’m breaking the rules of writing. I’m not supposed to start a story out with myself, the narrator literally talking about the story being a story, before the story and describing, instead of speaking or telling it. This is just something that’s too personal, but I’m the type of person who does better with given prompts, with assignments. I just thought this prompt could just become the type of story that was like ripping off a Band-Aid. I write not for approval, fame, or condolence. I write for the mere consideration and thoughtfulness from someone else so I can finally feel at peace. I’m sick of being pitied. I want to be understood. Being pitied just makes me want to kill myself. Whoops, I forgot. Saying such a sentence makes my friends and family wince. Cons of trying to kill yourself: you can no longer use that phrase. That joke was funnier in a mental institution; sorry it was just one of those things you had to be there for.
I like quotes, weird ones though.  I always used to tell all my friends what I thought were just mind blowing quotes, but all my friends thought they were sad, rather than mind blowing. “But who prays for Satan? Who in the last eighteen centuries has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner who needed it most?” – Mark Twain. I am a big believer in empathy but unfortunately for me and the rest of humanity, a lot of others aren’t. I don’t think judging is okay, I don’t think that anyone should be judged for how they look, how they talk, how excited they get about things, their faith, their political beliefs, etc.  Unless I have gone through every single moment of their lives next to them, I cannot judge them. I say this because of experience, which I find a lot of in this quote. “Do you remember the first time you were called annoying? The way your breath stopped short in your chest, the way the light drained from your eyes, though you knew your cheeks were ablaze. The way your throat tightened as you tried to form an argument that got lost on your tongue, your eyes never left the floor that day, and you were 13. You’re 20 now, and I still see the light fade from your eyes when you talk about your interests for “too long,” apologies littering every other sentence, words trailing off a cliff you haven’t jumped from in 7 years. I could listen to you forever, though I know speaking for more than 3 uninterrupted minutes makes you anxious. All I want you to know is that you deserve to be heard for 3 minutes, for 10 minutes, for 2 hours, forever there will be people who cannot handle your grace, your beauty, your wisdom, your heart; mostly because they can’t handle their own. But you will never be and have never been “too much.” – Tyler Ford. My point of this is I felt like I was “too much” and I got caught in an impulsive night which too little sleep.
March 12th, 2014 I went on a usual midnight walk, I was captivated by the night. Seeing the neighborhood empty, dark, and without sound changed my perspective. It was my fourth day awake; I like vyvanse, vyvanse is a pill it’s basically a different brand name form of Adderall. I’d gotten in a fight with my dad earlier that night. He’d gotten drunk, picked me up from work, and decided to remind me I’d probably not graduate high school. “You just don’t try hard enough, you don’t care enough, and hell Christy if you continue being this way then you won’t even be smart enough.” Those words stabbed me, straight and sharp into my gut. The worst part was he probably wouldn’t even remember saying such. This prompted my midnight walk, my head was spinning because of my dad’s drunken words because honestly they were really just his sober thoughts. After he’d brought me home, I did homework, snorted some Adderall, popped some vyvanse, and said goodnight to my mom and sister. I was so tired, I was exhausted and it was the kind of exhaustion sleep just wouldn’t cure. I had never more wanted to sleep, so I pour bottle of cyclobenzaprine (a muscle relaxant for back pain) into my wallet, where change would normally been kept. I had stared at it, my eyes unable to leave the sight these small pills that could possibly change everything. Interrupting my thoughts was a car horn and three teenage boys honking and yelling out of their car. I followed the car out of the trail of my eyes. Looking around, I was still alone, with my only company being the stars. Circle K then came into my eyesight as I made a curved turn, I walked in and tried to convince the salesman to sell me a lighter or matches but he wouldn’t without an I.D. So, I exited the store and saw the three yelling boys now sitting around outside smoking, and I walked over to bum a lighter for the pack of Marlboro’s resting in my back pocket. Still making sure to be a good ten feet away, I bellowed, “Hey can I bum a lighter?” The taller one turns and with my luck, it was my sisters ex jackass boyfriend. “S***!” I screamed seeing him and ran in the direction of my house and after walking a decent distance I sat at a corner of a sidewalk and started crushing some Adderall with a spoon. I took out my straw and started snorting the orange powder in front of me. I felt a rush of happiness, knowing it would kick in soon and relaxed against the wall. Then I hear voices, and up walks Matt (sister’s ex), Tyler, and some other guy I didn’t know. “Oh God,” I complained as they walked up and Tyler scowled at me and asked what my problem was. I replied, “Him,” flickering my eyes up to Matt. “She has a right to hate me… what I did was unforgivable,” Matt said to me, his voice oozing with sincerity, I almost felt bad for being so mean. Almost. Then third guy whose name I didn’t know tripped onto Tyler laughing and obviously inebriated and said, “Your sister’s a whore, especially after a shot or two of tequila.” He smirked and I squinted at him because of the light post behind him and replied, “Do not judge someone for the ways they tried to kill their sadness.” They all just stared at me, until they noticed my spoon and used it as their new way to taunt me. Eventually I got home, and unfortunately for me Matt had decided to tell my sister of our encounter. My mom and sister had been waiting for me, both angry and worried. We got in this big argument and by this time it was about three a.m. My sister left to stay with a friend and my mom and I parted ways into our bedrooms. I opened my wallet, I was so angry, and I took my muscle relaxants. All forty of them and I took out my laptop and wrote letters to my mother, sister, father, and best friends. I put it on a flash drive and texted my best friend Lauren and told her to pick it up in the morning. I was so tired, I went into my mom’s room and put a blanket over her, she looked cold. I kissed her cheek and retreated back into my room and fought my eyelids, trying to focus on something worth being the last thing I saw. I went onto my phone and left a picture of my family and I on the screen and stared at it until the pills gripped and killed my consciousness.        
“ARGHHHHHHHH!” I screamed, unknowing of where I was, flailing my arms I accidentally hit something soft, yet also solid. I felt my arms being Opening my eyes I saw a tall brown haired, tall doctor whom was rubbing his newly bruised noise which must have been on the end hit of my flailing. I felt something weird in me, lower. It was a catheter. I blinked, slowly, trying to figure out how I got here. I look down and restraints had been attached to my arms, the reason why being obvious. “Christy?” says a crackling voice. It was my mom. “Honey, oh my god, honey I love you, I’m so sorry but they have to take you away. I tried everything. You’re going to be staying at a facility for a little while. You need help, and asking for help is never bad okay, it’s all going to be okay,” she finished, sniffling.  “Mom, no please Mom please don’t send me away. Please.” I replied crying, feeling as if I had lost total and complete control.
I’ve come a long way from that day. I went to Aurora Behavioral Center for six days, I stayed in room one hundred and four, I had a fourteen year old meth addict roommate, and I met one of my best friends there. It was so hard at first, I didn’t talk, didn’t associate, and didn’t do much besides breathing. Then I met Josh, someone who made fun of the creepy janitor with me, the person who made the art teacher change that stupid song ‘Happy’ because listening to that song in there made us anything but happy. I met many people there, and the great thing about these people is that they were like me. They are like me. They taught me to never judge anyone again, because absolutely everyone comes from their own situation and most of them aren’t too wonderful. I am one of the lucky ones. I am so immensely lucky because I have a mother who would die for me, who loves me more than life. My father and I have been working on our relationship and it’s getting better and I’m grateful for his trying to change, he’s a good man. I’m thankful for my best friends, especially Lauren, she’s really gotten me through this, I love her so much. Lastly, I’m fortunate for my sister, and though we often fight, I’m happy to know I have a lifelong friend to move forward with. I now want to attend Northern Arizona University, join the Peace Corps afterwards, and eventually become a journalist or a prosecutor. I have goals now, I have reasons and hopes to keep going, people to help me continue to live. I’m one of the lucky ones.