What Happened on Wednesday

Part Nine

Sometimes life sucks. It doesn't get any more blunt than that. Sometimes life sucks and you die, but sometimes you just keep living.

I was admitted to a mental health hospital on January 30th, my dad's birthday.

While my father and my siblings celebrated his, as far as I'm concerned, 25th birthday, I was riding in a vehicle with my grandmother wondering how I got this bad. How I made it this far to begin with. So much has happened in my life, why am I still here?

I had been skipping school more frequently before I landed in this car. My teachers heard less and less greetings. I started spending more time in my room than with my girlfriend, family, and friends. I stayed in my bed and watched my participation grades dwindle. My grades started to slip. I was failing a few classes and I honestly didn't care. Looking down at my report card, I felt nothing. I didn't feel guilt. I didn't feel like I had failed. I didn't feel anything.

Even at school, I felt like people looked through me. I had no urge to talk to people. I had no urge to raise my hand, even on the rare occasion I knew the answer. Failed test after failed test, I began to find it funny. Funny how I used to be this happy-go-lucky person that didn't care about a thing. Now "not caring" was taken literally.

I started to become more reckless. I didn't turn my head away when people around me smoked. I fell into habits of self harm and biting my lips. I stopped looking both ways before crossing the street. I stopped making any sort of effort in school, communication, and taking care of myself. I didn't shower, and when I did, I would stay in there for hours.

Two days before I laid on an inpatient bed four hours away, on January 28th, I decided that I had had enough. I was done. Done hurting, done trying. I was sure that no one would notice if I never showed back to school again. Heck, I thought, I have missed so much school, no one would bat an eye.

In the middle of the night, I creeped quietly into the bathroom. I hadn't been to school in a week at that point. My grades were slipping and I didn't see a point in anything anymore. I looked into the mirror and saw my face warp into something I didn't recognize.

I leaned down and pulled out the first bottle of pills I could get my hands on. I knew where to find alcohol. I knew exactly what I was doing. My shaking hands curled around the white bottle. I suddenly felt dizzy. The world around me started to spin.

As the world spun, I heard a voice behind me. I dropped the bottle in the sink and slid down the wall until I hit the floor

"Count to ten," the voice said.

I whipped around. "What?"

"In Korean. Remember, Oyster, count to ten in Korean."

When I recognized the voice, I did as she asked me to. Hana, Duo, Set, Net, Dasu, Yasu, Yogurt, Yado, Ahap, Yul

"Yogurt?"

Yogup, Madison, I'm sorry.

"Don't be sorry," I heard another voice say. This time, it was Joliene. "Never be sorry for who you are, unless you're Leah". Leah was an inside joke between Joliene and I that no one knew about. Why was I hearing things?

Suddenly, I was swarmed with the voices of everyone I care about. I heard my classmates asking me what they would do without me. Who would take up the space that I do.

But when I heard my grandma Brenda say to me, "Our adventure isn't over," I changed my mind. One last voice echoed in my head. "Go to sleep," It was Mrs. Mirum. "Go to sleep and go into the bakery tomorrow. You are stronger than this."

And so I did. I placed everything back where it belonged and I laid down in my bed. I counted to ten in Korean over and over again until I fell asleep. The next day, I was quiet a lot. I told my mom that I think I need to go somewhere. I told my mom that I was contemplating suicide. She reacted in the way I expect, the way everybody reacts. Suicide is lazy and stupid. I agreed. Nonetheless, we met my grandma that very night and the next day, I was off to the hospital.