Based on a True Story

just something I needed to write to help me cope

Anxiety �" an unpleasant state of inner turmoil, and there sure is a hell of a lot of unpleasant inner turmoil at the moment.  I just can’t stop f*****g thinking what if, what if she hates me, what if she’s hurt, what if she’s dead, I can’t f*****g stop and it’s killing me.  I have 2 more hours at work; she still hasn’t answered my text.  It’s Friday and I just can’t stop thinking about Tuesday, the way she cried, the dead look in her eyes.  Two more hours, she’ll be okay, she’ll be okay I keep repeating to myself.  I’ve had anxiety for years, and would be overcome with attacks thinking friends or family had died.  Normally I can sort myself out when I realize they are fine, or by getting ahold of them.  This time was different though.

            My mom hadn’t answered me in two days, and while normally this wouldn’t be a big deal, after Tuesday I just can’t help but to expect the worst.  I have to know she’s okay, I have to know.  After I get off work in an hour and 30 minutes, I’ll run by .. home.. and check on her and pick up some more stuff. 

She’s going to be okay…

But what if.. what if… what if

            Time was never slower than at this present moment.  This active bustling world around me completely oblivious to my suffering, totally indifferent about the fact that my mom might be dead.  One hour and 22 minutes, f**k.

            Tuesday I had left my house, for good this time.  I had left previously for several months, but this time I meant it.  Her crippling alcoholism and pill addiction had fragmented whatever was left of our relationship.  Whoever that woman was Tuesday when she said… well whoever she was she wasn’t my mom, but my mom is still in there I know, and I’m not ready to lose her yet.  Which is why I really need to check on her, but there’s still one hour and 3 minutes until I can. 

What if she’s dead.. What if its your fault..

You left here, you left her, you left her

            I needed to check on her, I needed to tell her I still loved her.  She’s got to be okay, she’s my mom she has to be okay.  Forty five minutes, only forty five more minutes she’s going to be okay.  Check my phone still no answer.

You left her why do you care..

            Thirty minutes, she’s going to be okay she’s going to be okay.  Stop shaking, stop shaking get a hold of yourself.

Butterflies have left my stomach, only to be replaced by dragons hell bent on destroying me.  Nausea comes quickly after, stress vomit.  I’m visibly sweating at this point, twenty one minutes left.  I just have to know she’s okay.

What if..

What if..

Look though it’s not my fault I left, okay well it is but I was justified.  Wasn't I? 

My mom’s long battle with pill and alcohol addiction, with depression, caused the divorce.  It caused dad to leave, and now she’d driven away me.  Was I selfish for leaving?

What if she’s dead?

What if.. what if..

  

            She’s not dead she can’t be dead, 4 minutes oh god she can’t be dead she has to be okay.  I still love her she has to be okay.

            Clock hits nine and you've never seen anyone leave as fast as me.  Race out to my car vomit again outside of it.  I have to know I have to know.  Five minute drive to the house, takes five years. 

What if.. what if..

Get to the house, all the lights are off and the door is locked.  Vomit again, the dragons have left and no words can describe the horror that has taken its place. 

You killed her, you killed her.

Go inside with key, “Mom?” no answer “MOM!?” then I hear soft crying.  I rush up to her room and find her crying in bed.  It looks like she hasn’t left bed in several days, maybe even since I left.  It smells like piss, and everything is a wreck.  She quickly covers up a piece of notebook paper lying beside her.

“Hi mom.”  She just keeps crying and motions for me to come closer.  I walk over and give her a hug.

“I’m so sorry” she repeats over and over.

“Its ok mom, I love you” I tell her.  “I came by to see you, and pick up a few more things ok?” 

“I’m sorry” she just keeps repeating.  I hold her until she stops then walk into my old room to grab a few random things I left behind.

 

I felt hollow I felt empty.  My mom was alive, but I had hurt her so much.  You can tell she’s in unbelievable pain.  The trace of the woman who had told me Tuesday that I was worthless, that she was better off with the bottle then me was gone, but she sobered up for a bit last time I left too.  I remember all too vividly the dead look in her eyes when I ask her “it’s the bottle or me”.  No I have to stay away at least for a little.

I walk back in say bye and I love you, then as I’m walking out.

“Can you shut the door please; I want to keep the cats out.”

What if.. what if..

I shut the door, but instantly the horror regains control of my stomach and I break out in a sweat.  This was entirely unlike her, she never wanted to keep the cats out, what did this mean?

What if she…

What if.. What if..

I can’t leave I have to know I have to know.

I walk downstairs to the door, open and close it loudly so she could hear.  Then I wait, I wait in agony. 

What if.. what if..

My fault.. my fault..

What if.. what if..

Vomit again, I can’t take it anymore I have to know I have to know.  I’m pale, sweating, crying and I have to know.  I quietly head back upstairs.

What if.. what if..

I step up to my mom’s door.

What if.. what if..

I open it.

My fault.. my fault..

All feeling leaves my body.

I scream “NO” and dive onto the bed.

My fault.. my fault..

I pull the knife from my mother’s hands, her neck bleeding.

f**k f**k f**k f**k

my fault.. my fault..

I stumble with my phone and drop it under the bed.  My mom sobbing “I’m sorry” “I’m sorry”.  I run to the kitchen and call 911 on the house phone. 

“What is your emergency?” 

I made my mom try and kill herself.

“Mymomtriedtocutherthroat816forestglendrivehelp”  I blurted in one giant word.

My fault.. my fault..

I grab the first towel I spot, and run back into my mom’s room.

“F**K, NO F**K”

I dive on the bed again, and pull the second knife out of her hand.  More blood this time.  I push the towel down hard on her throat hard, too shocked to control myself.

She just gurgles out this wretched “I’m sorry” that’s barely cohesive.

My fault.. my fault..

I stand up uncover her and throw all the rest of the knives in the corner.

My fault.. my fault..

I find the notebook paper that was sitting out, a long lengthy note about how sorry she is to my sister, and how much she loved her.  On the back is my name, and nothing underneath it.

She was going to kill herself and leave me a suicide note with only my name and nothing written on it. 

My fault.. my fault..

I get up and kick a hole in the wall, my body at this point nothing but anger, sadness, and every other horrible emotion one can feel.

“DON’T YOU KNOW WE STILL F*****G NEED YOU”

My fault.. my fault..

Now I’m sitting on the ground in my mom’s room balling.  The woman I loved so dearly, the mother who had raised me, and I drove her to try and kill herself.  She may not have been herself when I had left, but I had also left whatever was left her there. 

To die.

My fault.. my fault..

The police arrive with the ambulance and quickly tend to mom to make sure she’s okay.  I’m pulled downstairs and questioned 7 times about what exactly happened.  At this point I’m not really an active participator in anything.  I walk around pretending to be alive, completely dead inside. 

My fault.. my fault..

My dad arrives, we cry, my sister gets there we cry.  He drives us to the hospital, everything fades to black on the way.

My fault.. my fault..

We get there they carry me inside.  We wait, everyone silent, everyone thinking the same thing.

My fault.. my fault..

Everyone blamed themselves, if only we had gave her more attention, if only we had tried to help her more, if only I hadn’t left.

My fault.. my fault..

She asks to see me, and only me before they take her to a care center, and after they fix up her neck.  The police later told me she didn’t cut deep enough to do any real damage, but was about one inch from her carotid artery.

All she says is she is sorry and she loves me, I say I love her too, we both cry.  I don’t say I’m sorry because words can’t express how sorry I am.

My fault.. my fault..

I walk out, bearing a burden that none of the people witnessing could understand.

I walk out.

My fault..

All my fault..