My Last Attempt

December 5, 2009
By , Nashville, GA
Yelling,crying,hurting,
That's what filled the rooms of my house,
I was hurting,you were crying,
My mind was yelling.

Betrayal,
That was all I saw,
Jealousy,
That was all I felt.

"I'm going through a miscarriage",
"I wanted better children",
"No, I don't want you, I want my husband".

The last things you said to me that night,
The night i was in chaos,
The night my life almost ended.

Borderline D.O.A.,
Knocking on death's door,
Lucky to be alive,
That's what they told me.

Cherry kool-aid heated up,
2 liters Beringer White Zinfandel,
Razorblade and a 6-inch knife.

Hair dyed red with kool-aid,
1/4 of the wine left,
I pick up the razorblade,
One tear rolls down my cheek.

Back and forth over my wrist,
Gently slicing into the skin,
As it cuts,
Blood begins to rise.

Blood pouring out at a slow trickle,
I turn to the knife,
Gleaming in the light,
I run my finger down its sharp edge.

More tears running down my cheeks,
I stab the knife into my left arm,
Pushing it down 3-inches deep,
Dragging it towards my elbow.

Blood protruding profusely from my fresh cut,
Crying harder now,
I don't want to die,
But this is the way it has to be.

Staring at it through my tears,
I begin to get very dizzy,
Try to stand up,
But collapse on my bedroom floor.

Wake up, 3 a.m.,
First thing i see,
Blood.

Blood,
All over the carpet,
All over my shirt,
Smeared on my arm.

And the cut?,
No longer gushing,
But come to find it's 6-7 inches long.

Next,
See the empty wine bottle,
The kool-aid packets,
My hair is red as it hits my shoulders.

I look around the room,
See pictures,
Of my brother,
My best friend,
And my love.

My gaze draws back to the cut,
Bleeding again now,
This time it's worse,
Need stitches!!.

Rip my shirt,
Tear off the bottom,
Tie it around my cut.

Walk into my mom's room,
She's crying,
She lost the baby.

"What the hell do you want?",
"Why'd I have to lose it?",
More crying,
"It should've been you that i lost!!!!".

That one hurt,
Found it,
Grab a needle,
And some thread like fishing line.

In my room,
On the floor,
Sobbing,
As i stitch up my cut.

Why?,
Why didn't it work?,
I don't want to die,
But...its better than this hell.

Months later,
I think back,
To my fifth and final attempt.

All that's left,
A horrible memory,
A lesson learned,
And a 6-inch long scar.





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