Tag Archives: medication

Living’s Too Hard To Do

“I’d rather be dreaming than living
Living’s just too hard to do
It’s chances not choices
Noises not voices
A day’s just a thing to get through
Living’s just too hard to do

I’d rather be dreaming than talking
There’s nothing to hear or to say
With ears covered mouth closed
The world is opposed
Nothing gets in or away
There’s nothing to hear or to say

I’d rather be dreaming than thinking
Thoughts are small comfort to me
Dreams might be pretend
But at least dreams end
And I just can’t stop thinking you see
Thoughts are small comfort to me

I’d rather be dreaming than sleeping
Just sleeping you’re just as well dead
In dreams I can fly
In dreams I don’t die
That’s why I lie here in this bed
Just sleeping you’re just as well dead

I’d rather be dreaming”

“Dreaming” by Loudon Wainwright III


I’m not well.  I’m a shell.  A hull.  Going through the motions like a sick twisted puppet.  Higher, faster, better, longer, they all say.  And I do it.  Mechanically my parts move but my mind is long gone.

Lack of meds is spiraling spiraling spiraling.  I don’t want to be there when I crash.  I’m so close.  Closecloseclose.  I can taste the tacky bitterness of it.  The sharp tang, like a slice of my own skin.

The world is splinters and ghosts and I just want to sleep and sleep and dream of days before.

Was there a before?

The Romantic Side

His hands are warm and dry, the grip firm as he tugs me over to his side of the couch.  I easily nestle against his chest.  The movie is terrible, but I feel like I could just drift off like this.

His hands ghost across my back, before slipping under my shirt and rubbing along my spine and shoulders.

“You seem tense along here.” He murmurs into my hair.
“Yeah.  New meds have this weird stiffness side effect.”  I reply.  He kisses the top of my head.
“Is the BP better at least?” His tone is hopeful
“A bit.  Starting to creep back up. But not anything dangerous yet.”

I smooth my cheek over his chest, seeking out the spot where I can hear his heartbeat.  My eyes drift close as I focus on the soothing rhythm.
“Are you even watching the movie?” A teasing tone this time.
“Not really.  It’s pretty bad.  I can’t even understand who we’re supposed to sympathize with- Jesse James or Robert Ford.”  He chuckles in agreement and the warm sound of it vibrates against my ear.

When I get up to turn off the TV so we can leave, his arms catch around my waist and he tugs me back into his lap.
“Nope.  Stay.” He insists, nuzzling the spot where my shoulder meets my neck.  A smile tugs at my face.  It’s been awhile since such simple actions push through the cobwebs of my heart and soul.  I feel something bubble slightly.  Some emotion I haven’t felt an awhile.

It’s later when we’re lying together, a good portion of my limbs draped over him that he gives me that sideways grin I love so much and reaches out to run his fingers along my side.
“I’m glad you’re here.  I like just being like this.”  He says softly.  My eyelids flutter.  He starts to say something else, but stops himself, deciding instead to press his lips against my forehead and eyelids multiple times.  Lightly, as if painting what he won’t say against my skin.  I resist the urge to chew my lip nervously.

When he walks me to my car, he promises (as much as he can) that he will get off work for my birthday.  With his dog’s face firmly pressed against my hip, one of my hands gently rubbing her ears in that way she adores, he kisses me one last time.

I tuck the whole night away in my mind to flip through and review for the next time it takes weeks to arrange for us to spend time together.

His girl Sofya (Zoe's foster sister)

His girl Sofya (Zoe’s foster sister)


**Trigger warning for pill abuse


Some part of me had the foresight to purchase a whole box of Primatene a week or so ago.  I’m very glad.


I do not technically have asthma. But that’s not really important.

Things are pretty much falling apart right now.  But I can at least pop 3 or 4 Primatene pills and have the magic of ephedrine carry me through my days.

Better than the alternative at the moment.

I am a little sad that I’m slipping back into my problem with pills.  But I really don’t want to do anything worse to myself.  It’s either these pills or darker things.   Things that leave more evidence.  I have to appear normal.

I have to put on my happy face and nothing helps more these yellow bitter pills.

It also does an excellent job of curbing my appetite while keeping my energy high.  Two-fold benefits.  Yay.

I know I can’t do this for too long.  I know.  But I can’t think about that right now.  I just want to coast for a little bit.

Maybe I can coast to somewhere a little better than here.


This weekend was hard.

It pushed me further than I’ve had to go in a long time.

I knew it was going to be rough. Some part of me had the foresight to pack only a couple pills (for medical, not mental emergencies) and make sure the blades were left at home.

It’s hard for me to talk about the trip in great detail. I think I’m still in a sensitive, semi-triggered state. I’ve been letting friends and family talk to me without talking much back. Unusual.
I did some necessary shopping today because my dramatic weight loss over the past couple weeks has left me with next to no essentials that fit.

I feel like I’m just ghosting through life right now.

I was flooded on the vacation…


They just want to go on the waterslides that are enclosed tunnels. I try to make excuses. They won’t hear it. The lifeguard only briefly checks to see we’re seated properly and holding the safety straps before shoving us into the hole.
I am shaking and shivering when they half pull me out of the pool at the bottom. My eyes blink, expression dead, as they ask if I’m cold. I plead a migraine (not a complete lie) and return to the suite to take an emergency pill and nap.


The next day it is easier to sneak away. One of the girls, we’ll call her Kritter (a nickname of her’s), finds me curled up in a giant chair away from the gaggles of children, reading a book. She sits next to me.
She decides the best topic of conversation is a mix of exes, sex, and childhood abuse. I stare as she talks about it so easily.
“So what’s Katherine up to these days?” Kritter asks.
I fracture into pieces of longing, of hate, of rage, of determined disinterest. It is the most separate we’ve been since managing to become the alliance that is Pen.
How does She always manage to split us into nastiness?


It is much later that Kritter brings up Army.  I talk about him distantly at first.  Then a realization slips into my mind in the middle of my thought.  I stop mid-sentence and she tilts her head, asking if I’m okay.
“I think…I just realized I care about him way more than I thought I did. I think…I may…” I stop before letting the flood overcome me.  Kritter smiles.
“It’s nice to realize when you’ve fallen for someone.”
No. No. No. It may be for you. It sends me into a horrified fear-induced state of panic as we struggle to force back the flood of affection and put the wall of apathy back in place.  We are hollow.  We care for no one.


There were some other incidents that I can’t really get into right now.

Things are evening out a bit, but I’m still struggling.

I know I’m slipping into that self-sabotage (Charlotte pushing to help) as Army messages me about seeing “The Hobbit” this weekend and I balk.  My reply is wary and distant.
And either it’s worked or Army’s just ignoring it because he hasn’t replied yet at all.

That’s fine.  A weekend alone sounds better anyway.

(liar liar liar liar liar liar liar)

I despise being broken and crazy.


(Trigger warning for talk of suicidal thoughts and sex. Not at the same time…)

We’re doing better now.  Kit’s not hanging around much anymore, but I’m not really surprised by that.
I never thought I’d be the one running the show for longer than an evening, but everyone seems to have decided I should indefinitely, especially after this weekend.

Let me explain a bit.

We got a surprising amount of support after Friday.
Partly from my mother and Texas, who sweetly made sure I wasn’t left to my own devices for long after the Friday night disaster.
Texas was mad at me for not calling or texting her, but when I explained that though I was technically suicidal, my true goal of that night was just getting drugged enough to not feel emotions.  Which is what happened. She wasn’t happy, but she forgave me.  She doesn’t normally do that, so I was floored.  And much nicer to her than I usually am, not usually being a “girl’s girl” myself.

However, due to the fact that it’s been a long time since I’ve taken that many narcotics, I was extremely sick/hungover most of Saturday morning and fought nausea, shaking, and dizziness for most of the day.  I managed though, and by the evening was completely fine.
Well enough, in fact, to help run a Halloween-related booth at a local downtown Halloween store event.  It was fun and healing to enjoy my favorite holiday.

Then Sunday I went to lunch with my mother and Texas and just talked about life, men, friends, careers, and girly crap.  It was great.  Strange that I enjoyed it.  Rika and Roms think I’m evolving or something.  Fuck if I know.


I also got constant texts from Army throughout the weekend.  Starting Friday night, actually.  I didn’t reply until Saturday due to my state-of-mind, but we chatted amicably Saturday morning.  Then in a rare moment of emotional-mental-semi-psychic/understanding, he figured out something was bothering me Saturday afternoon.

Being that Army and Jeff are very good friends, I didn’t elaborate.  That wouldn’t be fair.  And despite being told otherwise, I do care about and respect Jeff enough to not fuck-up friendships.
Army was a bit upset that I wouldn’t talk to him about it, but when I explained vaguely that it had to do with Jeff and I didn’t want to be unfair to their friendship, he understood.

Then he started pestering me Sunday to hang out.  After Monday night, I wasn’t sure if that was a good idea, but when I said I was going to see “Hotel Transylvania” with Texas and her boyfriend, he said he’d love to join us.

I was surprised, to say the least.

First of all, Army is not really into hanging out with other people, especially couples.  Secondly, he isn’t a big fan of animated movies.

I pressed him on why he was so insistent, and he said he just wanted to spend time with me.  This again, surprised me.  This weekend was just Surprise Central, obviously.

The movie was good.  A father-daughter movie, which made me a bit uncomfortable, but still enjoyable.  I had ridden to the theatre with Texas, so as we were leaving, I mentioned this to Army and he said he’d be happy to take me home.

We ended up making a detour to my mother’s law firm….because…ahem, despite my “evolving”, I’m still Charlotte.  And there wasn’t really anywhere else private for Army and I at 10pm on a Sunday. And I have keys to the small office and knew no one was going to be there.

I learned a couple things.

First of all, desk-sex is not as easy as porn and erotica would have you believe.
And floor sex is effin’ painful.  My back is killing me and I have rugburns in places a woman should not have rugburns.
And Army did this thing that…normally would have me uber-triggered (I won’t elaborate), but actually didn’t bother me at all.  If anything, I enjoyed it.

I never thought time with Army would be healing.  We actually spent most of the time just talking.

He was kind about the recent cuts on my thigh, which in the past he’s flipped out about.  I talked about some of my insecurities and all the ways I’m obviously a fuck-up and not a normal woman.  I talked a bit about James The Stranger.

He spent way more time that I thought he ever would in reassuring me that there’s nothing wrong with me not being able to do a lot of normal emotional things, and certainly nothing wrong with me physically (see Victoria??).
He only lectured me on driving into the middle of nowhere unsafely when it came to James.  When I joked about wishing he’d just murdered me in his creepy house in the middle of nowhere, Army got angry.  But then…he actually read my body language and emotional distress, and comforted me instead.  It’s like he’s possessed by an alien.

Afterwards, we went to Shadow Dragon’s.  He was supposed to just drop me off, but he said he really wanted to see Zoe if he could.  I hesitated, as I don’t like being a rude roommate and having people over without warning.

But Zoe is our weakness, so I caved and let him in, making him promise to be quiet.  Zoe was ecstatic to see him, which made me smile.  They played outside and then we sat on the couch together and talked a little bit more.

It’s been such a long time since I’ve actually just talked to Army.  Since before…yeah.  I even mentioned the whole miscarriage thing being part of what had me so depressed lately and he showed a surprisingly caring side.  I don’t want to talk about it in too much detail.  It was private and my moment and I don’t want to share it with the others.
The moment it’s written about in this blog, all the others have access to it.

I dunno why I feel possessive about Army.  I suppose to be fair, he’s always been mostly “my relationship”.  Kit and Audrey handled him for moments at a time, but it was usually me that spent time with him.

I just never thought I’d get so touchy-feely that I’d need some sort of healing.  And I never, ever thought he’d be the best one to provide it.

Monogamy vs. Polygamy (in our DID world)

Recently, I’ve been reading about how most persons with DID/MPD are either non-sexual or polygamists.  Obviously, this isn’t true.  I know this isn’t true.  This is a narrow-minded pop culture viewpoint.

But I’ve gotten a couple people on a website I’m a member of ask me how I can be both DID and monogamous, and yet still be highly sexual and into kink/BDSM.

It’s hard, I’ll admit.  We play that balancing game constantly.  We are hard-wired to be monogamous, but it is tricky trying to satisfy all of the requirements demanded by each of us.  But we work it out due to the following feelings on relationships; broken down by alter.

being a litle i dont really wanna have a boyfriend or girlfriend.  but i do want someone who will let me have my alone time to watch disney movies and play with zoe.  i’ve never really found anyone i felt safe enough to be around.  besides katharine. there were a few times she would watch a disney movie with me and i felt safe. but boys are scary, so its harder with them. i just dont want someone who will trigger any of the others…

I have needs.  That’s pretty much my bottom line.  If said person cannot fulfill my needs (which are also the body’s libido, so it isn’t just me being selfish or some shit like that), then they don’t hang around for long.  A libido has a lot of power, especially for a young woman, so I get a lot of say in whatever relationship we attempt to pursue.  I’m willing to be patient….to a degree.  But there is that point around the 3 month mark or so where I start getting antsy, twitchy, and it’s time for me figure out a solution to those needs.
However, I don’t do the whole cheating thing. That’s disgusting.  I am monogamous.  If the current relationship some other dumbass alter has gotten us into doesn’t fulfill my needs, then I correct that (Rika: she means sabotage).
Thanks Rika. Sure. Fine. I sabotage it. We need a complete relationship, not some half-hearted bullshit.

I just want to be able to trust someone.  I don’t want to be used. I don’t want any more abuse.  We’ve had enough of that.  Sometimes Charlotte forgets that the sort of people that fulfill her desires are the dark ones who will take us down that thorn-covered path again.  Roms and Rika help back me up on that usually.  I like someone who I can actually talk to.  I can cuddle with.  Who will make me smile and charm me.
I like the idea of someone who knows about our condition.  It’s…really hard to hide it.  It’s dishonest.  I’m tired of dishonestly.  It’s only cost us in the past.

I’ve been getting the largest vote in the past- though apparently this needs to be re-evaluated.  I care about that spark.  That chemistry.  Not necessary with the clothes-tearing and such, but just at least someone who will make me smile when I think of them.  I suppose I’ve got a bit of Claire’s romantic streak, but I also do enjoy sex occasionally (not to the degree as Charlotte, but at least some vanilla stuff).  I’m looking for that happy medium.  Someone who can be my friend and my bed-mate.

I am mostly a loner, so I don’t much care about relationships.  But I do like the idea of someone I can bake and cook for.  I’ve done that in the past and it was nice to have someone praise and enjoy my creations.
I also want someone who understands my function with the pills.  That I’m not trying to be suicidal, like Victoria or Daria.  I’m quite aware of the safe level to take to keep us from drowning.  I’ve perfected it over the years.  I’m the closest thing to a medical-alter this body has.  Let me do my thing and stop bitching at me for having “problems”.
And let me play my piano in peace. I do not perform.

I allow only partners who will not fuck us up.  No more of that shit.  I have one job and I’m going to fucking do it well.
I will handle any asshole who thinks he’s hot shit but is really fucking crazy shit.  I don’t care about honesty, like Claire. I don’t care if they know about our “condition” or whatever.
I do care that they understand that though Charlotte may be into dark shit, there is a line and they will not fucking cross it, or they will deal with me.
There is a reason why we were not nervous living in the slum side of town without constantly carrying weapons.  And that reason is me.  I’ve handled men and women larger than the body in the past will little to no trouble.
You fuck with us and I will fuck you up.

I’m not particularly opinionated about relationships.  I just want someone who isn’t going to upset the other alters, especially Armes or Claire.  I have no desires to be with anyone, but I respect the other alters having those desires and they are welcomed to pursue them.  I suppose I would prefer someone who does not have a problem with the whole Pagan belief thing.  Someone I can have the occasional intelligent conversation with.
Someone who doesn’t hate children.

I will not stand anyone who is dumb.  Also tired of people who don’t have their shit together.  I worked my ass off to get the job and education I have.  It was hard- but I did it.  Despite all the shit we deal with.  If you have a damn good reason for being a little behind the curve, then sure, I get that.  But don’t be making stupid excuses for being a lazy fucker who doesn’t understand how life actually works.
I don’t really have a physical interest in anyone.  Just someone I can talk to.  Especially about work.

No person should touch me.  That’s very bad.  The other alters say that it’s going to happen though and I should say what sort of person I would accept if I had to.
Someone who doesn’t judge our appearance.  I know we’re awful and fat and disgusting, but I don’t like that being pointed out.  Someone who isn’t constantly trying to make me eat.  I hate food.  Maybe someone who is nice to my hair.  I do like brushing it and playing with it and putting it into braids or buns or other things.
Someone to make the thunderstorms not so scary…


Daria declined to participate.  I don’t think she has a true opinion beyond wanting to ruin anything we attempt to do as a functional person.

This is the balancing act we have to do every time we think about starting a new relationship.

But we definitely don’t want to compound the problem by adding multiple partners.  That would just cause more issues.

Sometimes we wonder if it might be easier to just remain single.


Forgot codeine makes me so effin itchy.

Shoulda taken the vicodin.

But needed something to make the others calm their shit down. Way too rough and switchy of a night. Hell, weekend.

Kit cannot keep this shit together like she used too.

Something needs to change. I’m going to run out of pills if I have to keep self-medicating at this rate.

We need to take stock and figure out our options. In the morning. Right now, we all need to sleep.

If I could just stop feeling so damn itchy!

The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly

(I adore “Fistful of Dollars” much more than “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly”, but it made sense for this post)

This post was really hard to write, but it needed to be done.  We need to work through some of this and cleanse it from our mind and psyche.


The Good:
His poetry was terrible.  Looking at it a second time, Kit started to crumple the paper before she hesitated.  No one ever wrote poetry about her.  And he did talk endlessly about her eyes in person too.  She smiled and stuck it in her locker.  She couldn’t take it home where her father could see it.

“Ready to go?” He asked.  She turned and shrugged.

“I don’t really want to go home.  Dad’s been even worse lately.”

“Well…” He winked at her, “I do have a car. It is capable of going places besides your house.”

“Really?” She answered with teasing skepticism.  He laughed and grabbed her hand.

“Come on.”

He took her to Lincoln Park to walk around the pond and through the trees.  It was beautiful and she forgot all about her father.

That night he convinced her to sneak out after Daddy came home and lay on the hood of his car, staring at the stars.

Sometimes he could be romantic.

The Bad:
Kit saw every time he stared at Texas extra long.  She knew he was driving Texas home while she volunteered at the library.

But she said nothing.

It came as no surprise we he said he was dumping her to be with Texas.

Though it didn’t hurt any less to be unwanted.

The Ugly:
There were the days he refused to give rides to any of their friends and just took Kit straight to her house.

Her dad didn’t come home until after 6:00, which gave him almost a full three hours.

It always started on the couch.

It always ended on the bed.

He always found ways to scar deep into her mind as well as her skin, despite her being adamant about not doing “it“.

There were so many things that weren’t it.

Maybe it would have been better to just do it.


The Good:
Their anniversary was Valentine’s Day.  It was always a big deal.

There was the year Kit planned an elaborate two day event where they shut themselves in their house with plenty of food, drink, and snacks and watch the entire first season of “Gargoyles”.

The last year Katherine planned a beautiful night in a hotel room for the two of them.
It was a surprise and Kit was blindfolded on the drive over.  The surprise floored her.  Romantic actions always did, even though Katherine was frequently romantic.  Kit was always unsure whether she deserved that. They cuddled and watched plenty of “Dexter”.
[Kit tried to force herself to have the sex that was expected, but the dreams and flashbacks had been dark and Charlotte was far away those days.]

The Bad:
Katherine’s employment was always an issue.  Sometimes she was employed for long hours and treated in such horrible ways that had her upset or depressed a lot of the time.

There was a long chunk of time where she was unemployed and Kit had to bite back anger and frustration at having to pay all the bills and still do most of the chores.

But the hardest was when Katherine had a job that had her working third shift and Kit had to sleep alone.  She hated that.  The dreams were dark and the bed cold.

Being woken with a kiss only just made up for it.

The Ugly:
Being dumped broke her heart.

But her heart broke even further when Katherine took their dog to a completely different state.

The dog that had gotten her through those first few horrible months of loneliness.  The first dog to save her from suicide.  She almost refused to let the policeman in her house when Kally’s bark sent his hand to his gun holster on the porch.  She begged him not to even think about shooting Kally, tears streaming down her face, before she unlocked the door.

She dreamed about her sweet dog constantly and in those moments between asleep and awake, it always felt like the lab-chow mix was curled up at her feet.

She never was.

Kally, the lab-chow mix. She’s smart, sweet, and protective.



The Good:
He is always good in a crisis.  Always.

From the first semi-medical situation he offered to help with (a horrible allergic reaction after going to see 4th of July fireworks and both of Kit’s legs broke out in huge rashes that had her sobbing when they brushed against anything) up until the migraine medicine shot he gave us a couple weeks ago (this entry).

When we miscarried, he was upset that we wouldn’t tell him which hospital we were at.  He didn’t force us to come home when we first took refuge at Daddy’s empty house (who was in Las Vegas) until we’d been there for two days and when he checked on us we were drunk as a skunk and playing with the notion of downing our bottle of prescription narcotics.  Then he dragged us to his car and drove us home.

He easily let us come back to the apartment after we were hospitalized and said he would happily shoot Stalker if he came looking for us there (despite Stalker being a military cop).

And he has always been so sweet to Zoe, from day one.

The Bad:
She really didn’t want to tell him.  But she knew she had to.  She started with a cowardly text.

“Want to get a late lunch today? Missed you last week.”

He agreed to meet at her place within the hour.  She rocked back and forth on the couch.  Then she quickly made sure the front door was open so he could just walk in.  She didn’t trust herself to open it when he knocked.

He walked in to see Kit white-faced, chewing her bottom lip nervously.  He tilted his head and let out a chuckle.

“Did I catch you playing with yourself?” He joked.  Kit barely heard, but both Rika and Charlotte rolled their eyes internally.  Kit mutely shook her head.  Army stopped and looked at her carefully.
“What is it?”

“I have to tell you something.” She whispered. He paused.

“Well, as long as you aren’t pregnant.” He joked.  She didn’t answer. It was his turn for his face to go white. “Are you?” He demanded.

“Yes.” She whispered.

He sat on the floor, hard.  “Fuck.”

She curled more tightly into herself and tried to go back into the head, but none of the other alters were having that.  She was shoved back out.  She hugged her knees.

Suddenly he got up and walked out the front door.

She gaped after him.

She guessed she probably should have expected that.  He made such a huge deal about not ever wanting children the one or two times that topic of conversation casually came up.

She was crying when he walked back in and closed the front door behind him.  She stared, then wiped at her face, trying to compose herself.

“I-I thought you were j-just leaving.” She stuttered out.  He frowned.

“Wow. You really think I’m an asshole. No, I left the car running for us to go to lunch. Because it’s so hot out. But I’m way too nauseous to eat now. Plus we should talk.”

She thought it was sort of weird that he said he was nauseous.  That’s what had tipped her off to the whole possibility in the first place a week ago.

They didn’t talk.  They sat there in her living room for over an hour.  Occasionally a sentence was said.

“So you’ve actually seen a doctor?” He would ask.

“Yes.” She would softly reply.

Or he would just repeat cuss words over and over.

She wondered if she truly was that repulsive.  After an hour passed, she figured she should make sure he understood where she stood.

“You don’t…have to like, stay with me. I can just…handle this. If you want to just go find some other casual kind of relationship.”

He stared at her like she was an alien.

“I mean…obviously I must be…completely unsexy now. It’s fine. I get that.” She continued. His frown came back and he scooted closer to the couch and her.  He awkwardly reached for her foot and stroked up her thigh.

“No. I’m not going to run. You aren’t automatically unsexy. I mean, I have to follow something like this through. Do the responsible thing. Even if it sucks.”

Fantastic. Now she’s a responsibility.

The Ugly:
Mere weeks after she miscarried, he got a vasectomy.  He didn’t even tell her about it in advance.  The only reason she knew the day of the surgery was because his sister-in-law texted about it, assuming Kit knew.

It wasn’t that she wanted (living) children with this man.  She knew she didn’t.  She had found out over the past 5 months how much he didn’t want them and it made her think of her own father too much.  She didn’t wish that on any possible child of her’s.

But she was still grieving.  And she certainly didn’t have the mental capability to take care of him after a surgical procedure.  She was still not back to work full-time due to her lack of full health.
And the fact that he didn’t even mention it to her felt like a slap in the face.  She thought they were at least attempting to be a couple.

When she tried to explain to him, he did get it at all.

And that’s when she fully realized what kind of man he was.

And the depression clawed at her further.  They hadn’t even had sex in weeks.  Was he trying to be “prepared” for someone else?  Why else schedule it so quickly? He scheduled not only within weeks of her miscarriage, but within weeks of them not having sex. For the first time ever. Maybe he just couldn’t go that long without sex and found someone else. Someone better.

The suicidal thoughts raced around her head.  She toyed with the Vicodin, Tylenol, and Codeine she had.
There were multiple nights Army came into her room because he “heard strange breathing” and then he would yell at her for what seemed like hours for taking a handful of pills.  He called her stupid and silly.

Of course she was.

That’s why she wanted to die.

It wasn’t until she was given a tiny fluff-ball of fur by a friend that she realized she had to pull it together. This tiny 6 week old puppy needed her.

And we named her Zoe.

Tiny Zoe gets a belly rub

The corner was her favorite place to sleep those first few weeks

She’s gotten so big since then!!

That Night – another Claire scribble

Another memoir-like story Claire composed a couple years ago.  This one is about the night we took too many sleeping pills.

She was wearing her nightclothes. Well, if an oversized bright green t-shirt and red boxers could it could be called that. A huge smiley face stared up at her from the t-shirt. She could barely make out the embroidered writing coiled around the smiley.

“Turn that frown upside down”.

She blinked. It seemed almost a cruel trick with how she’d been feeling lately. She looked up to inspect the room she was in. It was tiny. She was laying on what seemed to be a step up from a hospital gurney- not quite a full hospital bed. A couple monitors sat behind her. To her right was a tall narrow table.

Was she in a hospital? She racked her memory but couldn’t find anything. The last thing she remembered was….

She shuddered. The last thing she remembered was that she had to make the pain go away. She just wanted to sleep. And not wake up to her arch-nemesis: Life.

How did she end up here? She lived alone. It didn’t make sense.

“Hi there.” said a calm voice. She looked at the doorway to see a woman in scrubs- she assumed a nurse- standing with a bundle in her arms. “We’re going to need you to put this gown on and put your clothes into this plastic bag.”

Kit squeezed her eyes again. Her head felt sluggish and stuffed with cotton. She forced it to process.

“What…about underwear?” She murmured. The nurse nodded sympathetically.

“You can leave your underwear on. Not your bra though sweetie.” She set the bundle down.

Kit blushed. She could tell she wasn’t wearing one anyway. But that wasn’t unusual. She didn’t wear them to bed.

“I’ll be back in a couple minutes after you’ve finished changing.” She closed the door behind her with a loud click.

Kit quickly discovered the sluggish feeling extended to her body too as she tried to maneuver to get her shirt off and put the gown on. It took her a couple tries to manage it.

Was she drunk? She didn’t think so. After the mess two weeks ago she had decided to not touch liquor for awhile.

Sleep sounded good right now. She put her shirt in the bag and then dragged herself back onto the gurney-bed and curled up into a tiny ball. Just sleep.

“Miss?” said a voice as someone touched her shoulder firmly. “Wake up.”

She jumped up suddenly and for a flash, someone else surfaced, hands curling into fists. The nurse pulled back, startled. “It’s okay sweetie, you’re in the hospital. Do you remember how you got here?” She held a clipboard and pen poised to write. Kit took a breath and steadied herself, staring blankly at the nurse.

“Got here…?” She paused, looking around. As if something in here would jog her memory. “I remember I was so tired. I just wanted to sleep. I haven’t been able to sleep for days.” She intoned. Lines from a well-rehearsed play. The nurse tilted her head and pursed her lips. She didn’t seem to be buying it.

“Have you been sad lately?”

“No.” Kit answered. Honestly. The nurse nodded.

“What about…feeling like you don’t really want to do anything?”

She hesitated at that one. The nurse read the expression and continued, “Perhaps you just like to stay around your house not doing much?”

“I don’t have….much of a social life.” Kit replied, a bit defensively.

“Why’s that?” The nurse asked.

“Things…changed. I…broke up recently with someone. I lost my job. And my house is being foreclosed on. It’s been hard.” She sighed and drew her knees up to her chest. “And now I can’t sleep.”

“I see. Did you take some pills tonight? To help you sleep?” She prodded gently. Kit reached up and pushed back some of the thick honey-red mane that was falling into her eyes.

“Yeah.” She admitted. Somehow the mask didn’t work here. She was finding it hard to lie. Was it the location or her sleepiness? The pills?

“Do you know how many? And what kind?”

“I think they were Tylenol PM. Maybe some phenergen.  I don’t know how many. I just poured a bunch into my palm…” She held up her palm to her face and inspected it as if to figure out the amount it could be. “Maybe ten?”

“Okay.” The nurse said, writing something on the clipboard.

“How did I get here?” Kit asked. The nurse smiled lightly.

“A nice police officer brought you in.” She murmured, writing some more information down.  Kit wondered who contacted the police.  She felt a tingle in the recesses of her mind.  A snarky remark about ‘rescuing her from her own stupidity’. But the voice was quickly silenced by the pile of cotton filling her head.

“No one knows I’m here…” she whispered pitifully. The nurse didn’t reply, writing more on her clipboard.

Of course…that wasn’t entirely true...

Soon, the worse night of Kit’s life started to draw to a close.

This was after she’d been told to drink three glasses of charcoal. She vomited up two glasses. They told her if she couldn’t keep the third down, they’d have to pump her stomach. That started another sluggish flurry of activity in her head.

She snuck past the nurses’ station to the bathroom poured it down the toilet.  Then sweetly told the nurses she’d drank it.

There were endless questions.

Where she was living? A slum neighborhood.
“Old house on Kurtz.”

Who she was living with? Just the voices.
“No one.”

Had she’d seen the doctor recently for how she’d been feeling? Of course not. Doctors are the followers of Satan.

Did she hear voices? That was a tough one. But admitting to it usually led to more doctors…

She was left alone for over an hour. She lay curled, drifting in and out of a hellish nightmare of her life the past couple weeks. When she woke up, she realized she was still in the nightmare.

A nurse came with a wheel chair.

Kit stared at it. There was nothing wrong with her legs.

“We’re going to take you upstairs and admit you to the psych ward. You’re going to stay there for a little while.”

“I want to go home…” Kit murmured.  Distantly, others started wailing in fear of staying further in the hospital.  The pills still preventing Kit from entirely hearing.

“Well, we can’t let you go until we know the drugs haven’t hurt you, and we need to keep you up there for now. Okay?” She motioned to the wheelchair. Kit blinked owlishly at it.

“There’s nothing wrong with my legs.”

“It’s procedure.” The nurse said soothingly. Kit sighed and slipped into the chair, resigned.

It was a short trip upstairs. Kit felt another wave of exhaustion as the drugs took hold of her again. She fought to keep her eyelids raised.

They stopped at a set of metal double doors. She felt something being put into her hands and looked up to see the nurse pushing a clipboard into her hands.

“I need you to sign this sweetie.”

“What is it?” Kit asked. The nurse smiled. It was snake-like and familiar. Kit tried not to physically recoil, even as she mentally scuttled back.

“Just an agreement. It’s for your own protection.” She appeased. It seemed reasonable.  And yet…Kit fought to put a skeptical look onto her face. It was hard.  The voices caterwauled in protest.  Kit put a hand to her head, feeling the beginnings of a migraine.

“You can leave as soon as we see the drugs have worked safely through your system.” The nurse compromised. Kit saw the lie, as usual (when advised by the voices). And as usual, she let it wash over her and picked up the offered pen. Signed her name above the bold block line.

She was wheeled behind the double doors.