Chapter 1 Finding My Desperation

The suicide attempt

I can still hear the deafening sound of the train's horn as it came barreling down the tracks not more than 200 feet away. It was July in Arkansas and the humidity was thick enough to cut with a knife. I remember the incessant buzzing of the cloud Of mosquitoes that would surround you every time you walked outside in the evenings. I remember the Xanax and vodka. It's been 7 years, and I can still remember the crushing weight of desperation I felt on that day. (So many memories in this room...so many lonely times...so many tears. There is paneling in here now, wonder how long it's been up? I think I was about ten when mamma put up the forest scene wallpaper. It was an odd type of security, to be all alone in the woods every night surrounded by deer and trees. A comfortable solitude that held no expectations, no one to disappoint.
She ran a nightly newspaper route and slept most days. I was expected to go to bed when she did, so this room sometimes felt like a prison and others like a fortress. My childhood toy box had a bookshelf on top that contained a rather large collection of children's books. This was my favorite. It would still be daylight when we would go to bed, so the books were my gateway to adventure. Thinking back, they may have kept me sane. As a child, and through my teenage years, I was a voracious reader. I could check out of reality. This foreshadowed my struggle for the following two decades. (It wasn't the drugs/alcohol...it was an escape from reality)
Strange to be standing in the doorway of my bedroom...so many years removed from the solace I crave most. Just to be ok. Just to forget there is a world beyond this 8'�-10' room. I've spent most of my time here since Kim went to jail. [I'm sitting on the bed now and time seems to melt away slowly, like a morbid reenactment of a Salvador Dalí painting. All of a sudden, I come back to consciousness, who had I just been talking to? How long? I'm not well, and I know it on some level. Still, the hallucinations are a kind of welcome break from reality. I had also been watching my tv earlier for some time...until I realized that it was off. Such an eerie feeling, to slip from reality while still somewhat conscious. I'm left grasping at details as they slip from my memory. Like a dream, they fade away. Just like everything else. I can't hold on. I deserve this. To be so empty, yet so full of pain. (I threw back the Xanax I had received that morning, chewed them up, and washed them down with the last of the vodka.) I didn't save any of the Xanax; I wasn't going to need any more. Times ticking, I thought. That combination will kick in soon, gotta hurry. As I sat down on the bed, I pulled the vial of insulin out of my pocket along with the only syringe I could find. I'm glad she left these here, I thought to myself. This will be quick and easy.
As I left my room to go spend my last few moments sitting underneath the tree I played under as a child, I had the urge to say goodbye to my children and the woman I had spent the last 12 years with. Her response, my God Frank, what have you done?
I'm now sitting near the tree, listening to the indistinguishable chatter coming from the people surrounding me. I just want to go to sleep and let the world melt away. The darkness takes me.
To be honest, I'm not sure when my humanity began to slip away, Or maybe I locked it away for safekeeping inside the closet with all of my skeletons. I did, after all cram a lot of things in that closet over the years.

Author's Note

This is an excerpt from my unfinished memoir. I welcome any and all comments (I am aware of the grammatical errors).