** This is a little excerpt of my life that took place in the year 2002. The story is true to my memory and feelings in that moment. Thank you for taking the time to read… it truly means a-lot to me. **

Wait It Out

- Hello? -

~ J, it’s bipolarmuse. ~ I am whispering, hiding in the back bedroom, as far from B as possible.

The tears just flow from my eyes. It is hard to breathe, hard to speak. My eyeballs feel bruised from all the crying. My head is pounding.

~ B is trying to kill himself by overdosing. He says he just wants to “go to sleep” but he is taking so many muscle relaxers and pain pills together. I don’t know what to do. This is what he wants.” ~

- I don’t know what to tell you. I wish I knew what to do or say. Did you take the medication from him? -

~ Yes, I hid it. Right now he is passed out and every time I try to wake him, he won’t wake up, but he is still breathing ~

I hid the medication in a kitchen cabinet… I wanted to flush them, but at this point, I am not sure of what B is capable of… I don’t know if he would get violent… when and if he wakes up.

~ I want to save him so bad and I can’t do it. He will just keep trying until he succeeds. ~

My voice is quivering… I am wiping away snot with my shirt… terrified to get up and go to the bathroom for tissue. Afraid of what I may see.

- Bipolarmuse, he has been doing this since he was 13. None of us can save him. I know you love him but saving him is not your responsibility. -

She is always logical and wise. And she is right.

- Do you know what you are going to do? -

In a hushed voice… ~ No. ~

- I love you. Call me back… ok? -

~ I love you too. ~

I went into the bedroom where B is passed out on our bed and I lay next to him just listening to him breathe. I feel him move and he comes to.

- BABY GIRL. – His voice is raspy and his speech is not right… slurred… crackly.

- Baby girl, hand me the pills in the night stand. -

I get up out of the bed and went into the living room, I gave him no response.

He is searching the nightstand, pulling the drawer completely out… I can imagine he is tearing the room apart.

Finally he makes his way into the living room.

His movements are bizarre… He can’t move fluidly at all. His motion is very “jerky” and he is having a hard time walking.

- WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY PILLS?? -

I am scared to death. He looks beyond angry… he is ferocious and frightening. His wild look is magnified by his high.

~ I hid them B, you can’t have anymore. You are going to kill yourself. ~

- I just want to sleep baby girl. Fuck man. Just give them to me or I will tear this house apart looking for them. -

He goes into the kitchen and starts opening every cabinet drawer and every cabinet door. He is going to find them.

Certainly he does.

He walks passed me with both bottles in his hand. The other hand is helping him walk along the walls to go back to the bedroom.

I wait a few moments and then join him to go to sleep. I don’t sleep at all. Instead, I stay awake listening to his breathing pattern.

Once morning finally comes, I call my work and tell them I can’t come in today. I must watch him or he will surely die.

I start doing laundry to occupy my mind, but I check on B every few minutes. I simply do not know what to do. He has done this so many times before.

I am walking a load of laundry passed our bedroom door and notice something terrifying.

B is shaking… no, more like convulsing. His breathing is shallow. I cannot see the Iris of his eyes, they are pure black pupil. I run to grab a flashlight and shine it into his eyes… they are COMPLETELY unresponsive… they stay entirely black.

I can’t handle it anymore. I can’t just sit by and allow this man to kill himself. He can try again another time.

Grabbing the phone, I dial 911 and explain what is going on. Paramedics are on their way… I am told to get the medication out for them to determine how much he has taken in the last 24 hours.

They rush him to the hospital and I follow behind in my car.

When I get there, I am greeted by a Doctor and a Psychiatrist. They are asking me if he was trying to kill himself.

~ He is always trying to kill himself, but he just kept telling me he wanted to sleep. ~

A half hour passes and they call for me so I can go sit at B’s bed side. He is on a breathing machine… ya know, for people who cannot breathe on their own.

I break down crying once again because I know it must be a bad sign.

The Doctor approaches me and informs me that B has done permanent damage to his heart. What does this mean to me?? Did he have a heart attack??

The Doctor also said that they have him in a drug induced coma and at this point all that can be done is to wait it out. He cannot tell me whether he will be ok, or even wake up for that matter.

I call his family to let them know…

This isn’t a new routine for them. Nobody comes to see him…

It just me and B.

© bipolarmuse 2012