Why don't you visit me?

A short story which I heard from someone who's son went through this ordeal, so it is also based on a true story.

I awoke in the hospital, I didn’t know what the date or time was. I was not even sure in which hospital I was, but my surroundings told the tell tale signs of a medical institution.

I fingered the bandages around my wrists, it didn’t even hurt.

The bandages were a clean, crispy white, with a little speck of blood formulating on the base of my left palm.

Suddenly I felt nauseous.

Questions like “Who found me” and “What did I do wrong” raced through my mind, because I sure as hell wasn’t dead.

At least not physically.

I contemplated my surroundings; a bare hospital room void of any notes, flowers or the obvious gifts which someone who faced death would normally receive.

There was another bed in the room, it was unmade, a television, a desk and a basin yet no sign of a nurse or my roommate.

I reached for the television remote, lying on the bedside table.

Click.

The television switched on and a snowy screen showed a man and a woman in a restaurant.

Click. Click. Click.

I browsed through the channels and stopped at CNN, underneath the stock market results, the time read “03:14:17 11/11/2009”.

God, the last thing I remember was listening to Elliot Smith, drinking red wine and finishing my last cigarette before slicing up my arms like a butcher would slaughter a cow.

That was two weeks ago.

I try to stand up but feel completely disorientated, my palms start hurting and my mouth feels dry. I open the bedside table drawer hoping to find my cell phone but instead I find a remote with a single button to summon the nurse.

Click. Click.

A red light flashes above my head and moments later a young nurse enters my room, she avoids eye contact and says “The dead have risen”, I don’t find it amusing but still manage a slight smirk.

“I guess so.”

“Is there anything you need?”

“What happened?”

“You were brought here by your flat mate, who found you unconscious, bleeding out on the floor.”

Thanks a lot Albert.

“Oh, so how long have I been here?”

“About two weeks.”

I notice the white fluid slowly which diffuses into my drip and I imagine smiling while falling into the enforced chemical dream, involving the nurse, blood, her and more blood.

I awake and the silence of the previous night is replaced by the sounds of movement, crying and people. I keep my eyes closed and try to swallow down the enormous lump which has formed in my chest.

I slowly open my eyes and survey my surroundings, nothing has changed except that the other bed has been made and the sheets have been replaced by what I hope to be clean, dry, ironed sheets.

I still cannot stand up and reach for the one button remote, the one click wonder.

Click.

The nurse from the previous night enters and for the first time I remark that she is pretty, not in a sexy nurse way but more in a girl next door kind of way. She tells me that breakfast will be served shortly that is if I am inclined to eat something. I kindly decline the offer but request some water instead. She returns moments later with a glass of ice cold water.

I ask her when I can leave; she says that I will not be released before a psychiatric review. We make some small talk before she politely excuses herself and I am once again left to myself.

I start thinking of my situation, how I ended up here in the first place. I suddenly despise Albert and decide that next time instead of slitting my wrists, I will jump off a building. But I must admit, there is something romantically compelling about slitting your wrists.

Maybe it is the blood and your life slowly bleeding away, in plain sight, you literally watch your own essence leaving your body and ending up in a pool on the floor.

Lying in that hospital bed, I could remember that after the initial cuts, there was no pain at all, in fact there was a feeling of relief, a feeling that I had won, liberation, escapism and just plain euphoria.

I saw the blood slowly but steadily pouring from the thick slashes on my wrists, it felt warm as it spread over my hands.

I remember the smell, it was unlike any other time that I had smelt blood, I mean I have smelt blood before, my own blood, other peoples blood, animal blood but this was different, it was a rich, sickly smell, maybe it was because I thought it would be the last thing that I will ever smell.

And suddenly everything started spinning, my sight faded and I saw my world turning into snow, this time I am sure that I smiled.

Next thing I know is waking up in the hospital, an even bigger failure than before.

God knows you’re pathetic if you can’t even take your own life.

Well in all fairness this was my first attempt and for a person who has never even contemplated suicide I guess it is not too bad.

The thing is, I have never ever been depressed and would never even have thought of taking my own life but when I found that letter, something in me had died.

To be betrayed by your lover is one thing but to find a letter written to her by your best friend, elaborately describing their relationship and their future plans, tends to get to a person.

After I read the note, I immediately switched off my cell phone, walked over to the liquor store, spent R1600 on three bottles of red wine and a pack of Lucky Strike Lights. The clerk was surprised seeing that I normally purchase rolling tobacco and red wine from the discount aisle. He must have suspected something. I am sure he did.

I virtually drank the first bottle in three swigs.

R489, does not taste that good.

As the wine flowed through my veins, emotions flowed along with it, I fell to the floor, choked on my tears, whilst tearing out tufts of my hair. This continued for about fifteen minutes before I composed myself and shakily opened a second bottle of wine.

I lit a cigarette and put on some music.

I was tempted to put switch on my phone and call her but I reclined and decided that I must first decide what to do.

Elliot Smith spoke exclusively to me in his whispery, spider web-thin voice and after the second bottle of wine I knew exactly what I was going to do.

Before I opened the third bottle of wine, I fetched my Gillette Mach Three razor blade and reread the blasphemous letter.

I used a scissor to sever the razor sharp blades from their encasing, I tested one on my forearm and with the slightest effort I managed to tear right through my skin and into my flesh. The red blood oozed out and I was surprised at how bright and alluring it was in contrast to the stark red colour of the wine.

I was already feeling better but had no intentions of turning back.

I decided not leave a letter but instead leave the letter which I found, I was sure it explained everything needed.

For the next hour I slowly sipped the last bottle of wine, chain smoking one Lucky Strike after another. I inspected the scene on my bedroom floor; two empty bottles of wine, an overflowing ashtray, drops of blood from my self inflicted flesh wound and the letter smudged with both blood and tears.

“This is it.” I thought as I took the last sip of my 2008 Hamilton Russel Pinot Noir.

Sure enough, the blades proved to be very effective cutting through the tender flesh protecting the fragile Ulnar artery.

An unknown sense of euphoria encapsulated my body and I remember thinking that this feels better than sex.

The nurse entered the room with my breakfast, I felt a wave of nausea passing through my body, I wave the breakfast away and luckily the nurse gets the message. She hastily removes the breakfast and asks if there is anything that I need.

I tell her that I want a cigarette and she smugly says that smoking is not allowed anywhere on the premises.

Well at least I tried.

I ask her if I have had any visitors and she tells me that my parents were briefly there but had to leave again on a business trip in Scotland.

I ask her if a short girl, blond hair, hazel eyes, athletic build ever came to visit but once again she repeats that only my parents came to see me.

“Try to get some rest and just press the button if you need anything.”

One click wonder.

I stare at the ceiling and feel my consciousness slip away.

She didn’t even visit, was the last thing I could think of before the chemicals took me to a better place.

Reviews

[Misled Legend]

Wow. This has spoken deeply to me and while I have even attempted suicide I have begun to hit that level of depression after being in two very bad relationships. I have also been in a mental hospital (day programs not full time) and I can understand it. In any case please keep up the good work.

[Calypso]

Wow. In this review normally I would say 'Good job', 'Wonderful', etc but I can not think of any words. Since this is true it makes my heart ache. I'm not saying not the piece was bad, it was just the topic.