Was that a sound, or…was that a sound stopping? Something. It was something. What was it…? It’s difficult to focus. My eyes won’t focus on…what? Nothing? Darkness?

Wait a moment…just…let me think. I’m on my bed. It’s dark.

God! I need water – why is my mouth so dry…? 

I try sit up but I convulse and fall back on the pillow.

Deep breaths. Ceiling. “Cris!” I croak, my voice thick and hoarse. “CRIS!” Nothing. There’s no answer. He must be asleep – why am I panicking? Just breathe!

Deep breath in. Ceiling. Pillows. Bed. I roll onto my side. Minutes tick by. Seconds. Seconds tick by. Which is it? Can I hear a clock somewhere? Why is it so loud? Whomp-whomp-whomp-whomp in my ears. Is that my pulse.

Oblivion. How much time has passed? What is the time? God! I need water – why is my mouth so dry…wait…did I not just ask this question in the whomp-dark-whomp-whomp…?

A faint grey light outlines a square. I can’t tell if it’s far away or really close. My head is full of fog. Thoughts come slowly; echo and twist and are gone. Words. Panic. Cris. Panic. Light. Whomp-whomp-whomp-whomp-whomp.

Focus. The square of light. That is the window – hold on to that thought. Window. Light. Window. Light. Window. Light. I can make out the carpet below the curtains. Ok. Breathe. I don’t need to panic. Don’t need to call Cris from his room. I’m ok. My mouth is dry but I am ok Jesus! What did I do last night…? Why can’t I remember? How strong was the stuff? How much did I take…?

Take…how much…take…thoughts… coalesce. Slow…ly…shit! Fuck! Wait… breathe…take. How much did I take? Whomp. 

Take.

Whomp.

Take. A look. 

Whomp.

On the floor.

Whomp-whomp.

A white tube.

Whomp-whomp.

Empty bottle.

Whomp-whomp-whomp.

White tube. Empty bottle. Pills. Take. I took-whomp-pills-whomp-sleeping pills-whomp-I took sleeping pills-whomp-whomp-whomp-pills.

I roll back onto my back. Deep breath. Heart pounding-whomp-whomp-in my ears. 

I’m alive. 

I’m alive.

I’m alive GODDAMMIT! WHY THE FUCK AM I ALIVE?! 

More light crawls up the walls, drowning me in conciousness. Dawn light forces the ceiling into focus – forces my mind into slow, sharp focus – so it failed. I failed. One hundred and twenty sleeping pills…and I am alive! 

Fuck. 

© Dave Luis 2015. All Rights Reserved. 

‘Revelations At Dawn’ is part is a series of tandem blogs where a group of bloggers write independent posts using the same title. Share the love by reading, commenting and sharing our posts:

NOTE: This post is based on a true story. Suicide is not selfish; it is the last, desperate lonely act of a soul who can’t see the way up into the light. There is always a way out – always! If you are suffering from depression or suicidal thoughts, there is someone who can help, someone who doesn’t judge and who will help you face that moment and pull through. Call LifeLine on 0861 322 322. 

 

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26 thoughts on “Revelations At Dawn

  1. Having lost a friend to suicide last year October who didn’t make it, for whom the light never crawled back up against the wall, for whom it didn’t fail, it worked and killed him, this piece is wrecking havoc in me at the moment, I am in tears typing this and the screen is swimming now, so I’ll stop!

    1. I am really sorry about your friend, Willie. I lost two close friends after my own attempt, which really made me aware of how much pain there would be for the people I would have left behind.
      I have such intense compassion for your friend – those final moments (which I did not write about here) between when you do the final act (and however it is that you chose to take your life) and when you lose consciousness are the most profoundly lonely seconds – more so than any point beforehand – it is a literal desert and hell for the living soul.
      There are no words that make the loss through suicide feel better – rightfully so. It is a traumatic, horrific event. We try afterwards to move towards forgiveness and peace, some days with less success than makes it tolerable. In loving memory of your friend.

    1. Thanks so much. It was a pretty painful piece to write – but BEING able to write it on the other side of that lonely, horrible night makes it…tolerable…

    1. Thanks so much! Reading this again, and the other 5 pieces, has really kicked me in the gut – all 6 pieces offered up so much of the raw human.

  2. So well written! So glad you made it. So thankful to have been able to spend some time with you! All is good. I hope this helped in the end, even though it must have been excruciating writing it. XX

    1. It was painful to write, Lara – definitely. There is another piece that will be written in time, about the moments after I took the pills.

  3. Dave, don’t think there can ever be “the right time” to publish some of our most deepest darkest moments in our lives. Your post today has made me realise that there is no “perfect” time, no “moment” in which to share so publicly what we may have kept to ourselves in our triumph, clinging to our greatest challenges that we’ve overcome in this short life. Today, I thank you for this…In celebration of your 3 years of sobriety and your immense courage shouting at me from your post today, I will go live with something I wrote a long time ago, but never published. You are an inspiration to others. Our words come alive when it impacts on the lives of others in a way we may never have thought possible. Thank you!!

    1. I am profoundly grateful that sharing this piece has moved you to publish your very personal work. I am looking forward to reading it.

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