Safe Travels

The Meltdown

**Trigger warning: mentions of self harm and suicide**

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that it was freezing cold. Then I felt that panicky feeling when you wake up and don't know where you are. My breathing became rapid and I tried to sit up to alleviate the pain in my chest, but I got dizzy quickly and fell back down.

A machine next to me was beeping at the same rhythm of my heartbeat. I watched it with a detached fascination. The red line was spiking with every breath I took. Things began clicking into place. The white walls, the beeping machines, the needles.

I was in a hospital.

I started shaking and screaming. I shouldn't be alive. I shouldn't be alive!

A male nurse with golden slicked back hair, pale skin, and a skinny build held me down. He looked like the kind of guy who read books no one else wanted to read in his spare time. If I was into guys, I probably would've been attracted to him.

A woman came up to me from behind him, she was old in a timeless way and walked with an intimidating grace. She held a syringe with a long needle in her hand and slipped it into my arm skillfully. Whatever was in the syringe calmed me down, but to my surprise didn't put me to sleep.

"Now honey, do you know why you're here?" The old woman's voice was soothing, like a grandmother who baked cookies for her grandkids.

I just nodded, not trusting my voice to work. My throat was so dry and my teeth were clattering and I knew if I spoke it would sound hoarse and inaudible.

I caught the male nurse glancing down at my arms for a split second before looking at a fixed point on my face. I looked down after him and fought the tears that threatened to break free from the emotionally void facade I kept up. On my wrists were what seemed like a thousand cuts. Some were obviously deeper than others, and two had to be stitched. My veins were popping out through my near translucent skin. I feared my reflection in a mirror.

What led up to me cutting was a blur, but it must've been bad for me to finally decide to stop waiting for that bad car accident or chance home invasion to take my life. Yes, I suffer from depression. Some days I'm deprived of all feeling, I'm simply a walking shell, and other days the pain gets so bad I don't know what to do. I guess today was just too much to handle.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of my mother's voice. It was high but deep, like the sound of rocks being ground together. Some days it was a comfort, others an infuriating needle in my ear. She was saying something about putting me on medication. The doctors were trying to talk her out of it, and my therapist was leaning against the doorway like it was all a lost cause.

I feel you man.

I cleared my throat to get their attention. All heads turned to me and I felt so anxious about being the center of attention I momentarily forgot how to speak.

"I'm fine, really." I offered lamely.

I wasn't fine. Everyone in that room, including me, knew it. I couldn't even recognize my own voice. It sounded too sweet and melodic to belong to a girl who tried to take her own life.

"You are not fine Megan. You're in a hospital. And do you know why you're in a hospital? Because you pulled one of your stupid stunts again!"

Suddenly I was on my feet, albeit shakily. Needles were sliding out of my arm painfully and standing made me nauseous, but I couldn't take any more of what she was saying. I couldn't take any more of her bullshit.

"It's not a stupid stunt! Maybe if you stopped alienating my problems and actually listened to how I felt, you'd know what it was like! I'm constantly hurting! But no, I'm not allowed to feel, it makes me a drama queen! Guess what, mother, I never asked to feel like this!" With every exclamation, my voice cracked a little more and my breathing became a little more uneven. By the end of my tirade, I couldn't breath and I was about to collapse, but it was worth it.

It was true, I couldn't help that I felt so intensely. I didn't ask to have emotions like that, I just got them. Feeling to me was like having white hot liquid running through your veins constantly. It seared your insides and made your whole being burn with intensity. It was hard to explain to people, especially when they'd never felt like me. The only person I'd ever been able to connect with was my friend Cory. He had anger issues, and he knew just what it was like to have emotions like sharp whips. I would've talked to him before attempting suicide, but he was in jail now.

And look where I was.

My mother looked at me with a fire in her eyes. I always got the feeling she never particularly liked me. I was another burden, a thing to make pretty on some occasions and to brush under the rug on others.

Her next words pierced me so deep I thought my wounds would reopen and start gushing blood again.

"Fine. I'm done dealing with you."

And with that, she walked out. I wouldn't see her again for a long time.