No More Golden Days

Chapter 15

Dan's Pov...............    

"Hi!" one of the nurses states over enthusiastically states as she comes into my room the next morning for a routine check up.

"Hey" I respond, seeming as to not be rude.

The previous night left me very sore and unable to move very much, but when one of the other nurses that had entered asked me if I needed to use the restroom, I so desperately did.

The constant struggle of having to stand with another person trailing along behind you and holding your head, while the other had your arm and was guiding you there while also pushing along the metal coat hanger with fluids made me very uncomfortable. Being eighteen years old, and being in the hospital treated like an eighty year old made me feel vulnerable. When I was alone, and was finally at peace laying in the bed of bricks and not being bugged by the constant question of "are you ok" I was able to think.

Being able to think not only about my mother, about the endless wondering as to Pj with Jason, but about why I was so lonely. Every Time I saw another patient pass through the halls that were almost always with some other family member or friend. Me on the other hand, was stuck in a room alone all day, well except for the visits from Phil but he only ends up staying for an hour or two before heading back home.

My mother sits in this hospital at this very moment because she was unable to take care of me properly. Because she didn't want help with her depression, because she would never open up and let someone help her. Instead here I sit, alone because of the way alcohol took over my mother, the way that even if I hid the bottles she would still end up finding them, and then getting very angry with me.

When I was twelve I thought in order to make my mother stop drinking and for it all to go away, was to get rid of the cause. In this instance I believed it was the alcohol, but somehow always brought my conclusions back to myself. So one night, I grabbed the bottles and threw them all until they were completely smashed in the middle of the street. Then I remember spending hours picking up the bits of glass and throwing them in a dumpster down the street until there was no evidence, and so some poor person's tires wouldn't give in. Then I ran all the way back home and hid in the shower until my mother came home. That night was pure hell, the week following left me in a state of shock and I was unable to speak to anyone, that was one of the worst beatings of my life. And of course I never told anyone because of the fear of what my mother was capable of.

From what I could remember from that night, my mother had finally stopped screaming, hitting, and kicking, and just went to sleep. Just like that she was out cold and I was left alone cowering on the bathroom floor, a puddle of blood beside me and all down my shirt and spread across my face. From her supposed rants to me she yelled something in particular that I am destined to never forget. My own mother that night, told her own son, to kill himself.

I never could fully grasp as to why she would say this, but instead of moping I thought I would make an attempt. I took a razor from underneath the bathroom sink and grabbed multiple bottles of varying pills. I laid in the bathtub with blood from before already turning the water pink. I slit both of my forearms open and then went to my thighs. I then continued to take three, half bottles of pills. I sat for a while until I had passed out. I guess somehow, someone had found me, until I realized that our neighbors did a continuous check up when I was home alone, and I guess this night they thought I was home alone. 

I woke up in a hospital the next morning with everything aching, they had to do an extraction with my stomach the previous night leaving me immobile from my chest down. I was in that hospital for weeks, the same hospital I was in now. That was why everything seemed so familiar.