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October 18th, 2021

Gender: Male

Age: 32
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October 07, 2021


10/12/2021 07:04 PM 

Fool Me Twice ... (Drabble)

I Imagine Death So Much It Feels More Like A Memory
(tw - death - drug use - attempted murder)
“If you die you're completely happy and your soul somewhere lives on. I'm not afraid of dying. Total peace after death, becoming someone else is the best hope I've got.”- Kurt Cobain
It’s weird, saying you’ve died. Let alone saying its happened twice. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more at peace from anything else. No drug in the world could ever make you feel so relaxed as dying does. When I died the first time, I felt the pain from it all. Once I felt the first shot enter my chest it felt like a living hell. Times that by four I was laying in my own blood praying for death to take me away. I never felt so betrayed in my life, a woman I thought who loved me sold me out as fast as she could and tried to end my life. I remember thinking at the time if I was in pain from that or from the gunshots. Then all of a sudden, everything went black. That pain I was feeling moments before vanished, I felt my own heart slow down as each breath became more shallow than the last. For some reason, I wasn’t scared anymore, I embraced it. I was counting down from one hundred, each number taking me closer and closer down. In the back of my mind I thought about my funeral. Would my parents know? What would they think? Maybe they would come together to mourn over their only son’s death. Or they could just cut their losses and cremate my body. Sixty-one, Sixty, Fifty-nine, fifty-eight. What did it really matter at that point? Once your dead you don’t see what your loved ones go through, lights out. All I could really do is pray that they show some kind of care, and that they would be able to go on without me. Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six. I could tell that my body was shutting down at this point, I had lost too much blood. It was starting to seep down my neck and get in my hair. By that point I wondered what would be on the other side. Words from my old pastor from bible school played at that moment, “And from 2 Timothy 4:18, The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to his heavenly kingdom. To him be glory for ever and ever. ” I hadn’t been to a service since I was eighteen-years old, but since I started using that one verse stuck with me. If there was a heaven, It wasn’t the place for me. I ruined that the moment I stuck that needle in my arm. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six. Twenty-six years just wasn’t enough time, but I did this to myself. Five, four, three, two, one....

I woke up the next morning gasping for air, my lungs felt as if they were on fire. “You’re lucky you were alive! We lost you there for a moment.”

I couldn’t believe it, I made it out alive. After everything seemed to check out alright in my eyes I ran away as fast as I could. There wasn’t a chance in hell I would answer any sort of questions they had for me, let alone the amount of blood work that was done probably showed the heavy amounts of heroin in my system. The following weeks after that day were a bit of a blur, a part of that resulting from the heavy amounts of drinking and drugs I was putting in my system to cope with the pain. Everything hurt, nothing seemed to stop it. I couldn’t keep anything I ate or drank down, sleeping was damn near impossible. Maybe I was in a sort of hell? Eventually, the heroin usage caught up to me. I did it one too many times which triggered an overdose. My body threw up everything it had, even when nothing was left. My lungs felt like they were collapsing, and eventually my eyes closed. Ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven. This had to be it. There was just no way I was going to make it out alive again. The pain I had felt these last few weeks vanished, and once again I felt at peace. I didn’t dwell on my parents, nor did I on the idea of going to heaven or hell. There was only peace this time. Despite only counting down to fifty-five I had felt my heart stop once again.

“Sir, can you tell me your name?”

My shirt had been ripped open, multiple EMTs surrounded me to see if I had regained full consciousness. My heart was racing, sweat covering every inch of my body. The only thing I could get out was “Did I die again?

Enough was enough. After that last incident, I realized my purpose was to live longer. To live that life I should have been already living before heroin came into the picture. It tried to take me twice, and I didn’t want to see if third time was really the charm in this case.

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