Save Me
Had a bad day, don’t talk to me
Gonna ride this out
My little black heart, breaks apart
With your big mouth
And I’m sick of my sickness
Don’t touch me, you’ll get this
I’m useless, lazy, perverted
You hate me
You can’t save me
You can’t change me
Well I’m waiting for my wake up call
And everything, everything’s my fault
The lyrics echoed over and over in my ears from my iPod Nano (iPods were still a thing in 2010) as I sat and waited for the handful of trazodone I took to put me to sleep. Another day, another argument. FF took a break from his video game and came into the bedroom. He didn’t notice my balled up hand resting on the counter. He left, I swallowed them, turned on ‘Save Me’ on repeat, sat on the floor and waited.
Once he found out, he got mad and called an ambulance. On the stretcher I go, down the hall past the door to my friend’s apartment. I worried what would happen if he heard the noise and looked out his peephole and saw me being wheeled to the elevator. A ride to Penrose (his mom worked at Memorial and he didn’t want her to find out), a chug of activated charcoal and into a bed. Once I was free to go, FF came to pick me up and had written me a letter about how he couldn’t stay with me if I was going to pull things like this. Once again, it was MY fault. Looking back, I knew that I wouldn’t die from eating a handful of trazodone but I wanted someone to notice that this wasn’t my normal behavior. If only the people at the hospital would have pressed a little more, maybe I would have opened up. Maybe, maybe, maybe…. This was my cry for help, but it wasn’t loud enough. I was tired of it all, I didn’t know what to do. I had zero privacy, he had all my passwords, he had to know my every move. I have never felt so trapped. You would think that it wouldn’t be as bad when we had his daughters on the weekends…not the case. I would be the one giving them attention and keeping them occupied while he played Call of Duty. The girls slept on the pullout couch when they stayed at our apartment and for some reason, one night we slept out in the living room also. We had a box fan running and I asked him to turn it down because it was loud and didn’t need to be on full blast. An argument ensues, he’s yelling, throws the fan and scares the girls. It’s after midnight and the girls are hiding in the bathroom wanting to call their grandma (his mom) to come pick them up. He couldn’t even act like an adult in front of his children. This leaves me, again, to help smooth over this situation and get everyone calmed down. There was more weight on my shoulders than I realized and yet it still took months and months before it finally broke me.
**I forgot to post this before my previous story, so we’re a bit out of order**
