The Darkest Day

I didn't like the person I saw in the mirror. My eyes were baggy with dark shadows underneath. The once bright green of my irises had faded to a dull, sickly color. The whites were now yellow, the blood vessels prominent. My skin sagged off my bones and had a yellowish tinge to it. Where I had once had a slim, toned figure, I was now nothing more than a sack of skin stretched taut over a skeleton.

My mom and brother had taken me to the hospital that morning after a particularly brutal drinking binge. The doctors had taken my vitals, hooked me up to an IV, and given me fluids and vitamins. After they were done, they sent me home with a prescription of Librium. It was laughable that they thought I would use the drug to responsibly alleviate my withdrawal symptoms as I detoxed over the next few days.

Of course, I had no intention of detoxing. As I lay there with the IV in my arm, I thought about how my life was no longer salvageable. I had been to rehab, been on probation, been to countless AA meetings, worked with sponsors. None of it mattered. I would stay sober for a little while, but despair would always get the best of me. I didn't even know why I was so depressed anymore, just that I was. Just being alive was agony. So, I decided right there on that cot to end it.

But how should I do it? I thought as I gazed deep into the sallow eyes in the mirror. A gunshot to the head seemed like the quickest way to go. However, I had no money to buy a gun, and I was certain that none of my few remaining friends would let me borrow one in my current state. So what else? I could try to get one of my friends to score me some heroin, but again, I had very little money. Plus, they would find it odd that I was buying heroin now, when I had sworn numerous times in the past that I would never touch the stuff.

I remembered a friend from rehab telling me about how he tried to hang himself in the shower by wrapping one end of the sheet to the shower head, tying the other end to his neck, and just hanging there. There were problems with this method though. My mom and brother were home. I couldn't risk them getting to me before the deed was done. Besides, I couldn't be sure I wouldn't change my mind halfway through the process and just stand up in the tub.

There was the option of slitting my wrists. I knew the proper way to do it and was reasonably sure that I had the courage to cut into my arms. I fill up the bath tub and get in before I did it so that I would bleed out faster.

I eventually balked at that idea though. My poor mom and brother had already suffered enough because of me. What kind of asshole would I be to not only leave my dead body for them to find, but also a bloody mess to clean up. My body would be traumatic enough, but I think the tub carnage might just push both of them over the edge. So that was out.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the bottle of Librium. Of course! Librium is a benzodiazepine, so mixing that whole bottle with massive amounts of alcohol should be toxic enough to kill me both painlessly and without leaving a mess!

I began to chuckle mirthlessly at how the simplest solution had been sitting in front of me. Then, as I realized the irony of using something that once gave me so much joy to finally end my miserable existence, I began to cackle maniacally. To a fly on the wall, I must have looked like the worst movie villain ever. I didn't care though. The solution was in front of me, so it was time to act.

I went through my room scrounging up all the money I had left. It amounted to a little over $15, just enough to get a half-gallon and a pint of Crystal Palace. I would drink the gallon until I could barely stay awake, then swallow the pills. If all went well, I would just pass out and quietly suffocate. I had long since stopped worrying about going to hell, because I was already there anyway.

So, I took what was meant to be my final stroll to the liquor store. As I walked through my neighborhood the the Plum Liquors on the corner of 52nd and Tanglewood, I lamented the fact that what had once been a beautiful neighborhood now seemed drab and lifeless. I knew it wasn't the neighborhood that had changed though. I had long ago started down an irrevocably dark path that only had one destination.

I did my best not to alert the cashier that anything was amiss. However, I had been going to that store for two years, so she knew me pretty well. Even if I said nothing, she could always tell if I was troubled. However, she never pressed the issue when I didn't feel like talking. So, we exchanged pleasantries, I bought my gallon and pint, and left.

I managed to chug a few gulps of the vodka before I got home. My mom and brother would be about the apartment, so I needed to steady my nerves to deal with them. Things went well enough. My mom had cooked a nice meal, but I was only able to eat a few bites of it. I would sneak outside to the bush by my patio every half hour or so to take another swig of vodka. I thought I was being slick, but I'm pretty sure they knew what I was doing.

After they had gone to bed, I brought the vodka in, grabbed the pills, and plopped down on the couch. I turned the TV channel to Adult Swim. It was Saturday night, so it would be all anime for the next few hours. I steadily chugged the rest of the vodka while vegging out to the TV, not really paying attention to what was on.

Finally, I was down to less than a quarter of the bottle. I picked up the pills and examined them. The little green capsules looked so beautiful, masking the deadly intent I had for them. Here goes nothing, I thought as I poured the bottle into my mouth. I then took a massive swig of vodka and, with much difficulty, managed to swallow it all.

"Goodbye cruel world," I whispered to the room. Then, I chuckled to myself. What a completely cliche thing to say! It was absurd that someone as intelligent as I once was couldn't even think of something clever to say before I died. How asinine.

I could feel the pills slowly working their magic as I waited. My movements became completely uncoordinated. It was getting harder and harder to drink the vodka. For some reason, I was worried that I wouldn't be able to finish it. Wouldn't that be a hell of a last impression to leave. My breathing began to slow as my thoughts became more and more incoherent. Time seemed to slow to a crawl until, finally, blackness mercifully descended over my world...