Part One

Then they saw my vitamins on the kitchen table. A fireman started screaming, “WHAT DID YOU TAKE?!”

“Huh?!”

He pointed at the vitamins and screamed again, “WHAT DID YOU TAKE?!”

“I took nothing. Those are vitamins.”

They sat me down on the couch and took my blood pressure and did a sugar level check. “Oh, those readings should be nice and high. I ate cheesecake earlier.” It went without saying my heart rate was racing from my “wake up call” and a bunch of hot guys.

“Tell me your name!”

“Are you trying to determine if I’m lucid?”

“TELL ME YOUR NAME!!”

“If you’re a little nicer to me, I’ll give you my phone number, too.” They snickered. Never pass up a good opportunity when it kicks down your door!

“My name is…I live at…my birthday is…” I dutifully answered their questions.

“Who’s the President of the United States ?” I had visions of Cheech Marin’s video with the immigration officer who looked like a retired Marine – “Born in East L.A. ”. “Oh, that’s easy…he’s that actor dude, John Wayne.” I answered, “George Bush, but not for much longer if he keeps up his sh*t and tosses the election.” One of the firemen turned his back, snickering, trying to control himself.

Soon they cleared out, but a few were left behind. “Ok, we have to take you downtown to Greek Oaks for observation.” Greek Oaks? Oh noooo…I had worked inside the hospital systems and I knew this was THE premiere looney bin for the poor. I had called cops to pick up patients and send them there, and now they were going to set me up with the crazies?!

Like a little kid I whined, “I don’t wanna go. I’m staying right here.”

“You can’t. A local judge has committed you for a twenty-four hour observation stay. It’s standard procedure. If you don’t come willingly, then we’re authorized to tell Green Oaks to commit you up to a week.”

At that point, I was willing to go. Barely. I wanted my bra, but I didn’t dare ask if I could put one on. There I am feeling rather “Free Willy”-ish with “the girls” hanging out, and there was little I could do. They wouldn’t leave me behind a locked door! Besides, they had already made an inspection of the house and had seen my dirty little secret in the bedroom. The bed was covered with diet books and cheesecake wrappers. You know it’s bad when you can hear the cops laughing from on the other side of the house after they’ve found the remnants of your “stash”.

I was allowed my shoes, keys, and ID. As I stepped outside, the cop told me to wait. He snuck up behind me and told me according to procedure, he’d have to handcuff me.

“Damn! Do you really have to do that? I mean, my neighbors can see this!”

“Nobody’s watching – it’s 3:30 AM.”

So in one fell swoop, I was given the true sensation of being arrested, denied a good frisking, and had my fantasies of being handcuffed totally ruined. As I’m being led to the car, I’m thinking, “Oh thank God the ‘Cops’ show isn’t here filming!” That’s all I’d need – my friends calling me up, “HEY!!! I saw you on TV last night! Hahahaha!!!!”

“Bad boys, bad boys…whatcha gonna do….whatcha gonna do when the come for you…”

“I’m telling you, my neighbors have eyeball prints ALL over their windows watching this.” With that, he put his hand on my head, and helped push me into the back of the cruiser. I kept thinking, “This is just like playing ‘Duck! Duck! Goose!!’ but without the fun, and I didn’t even get to goose him.”

I was given “limo service” to the facility, admiring the hooked up laptop in the cruiser. When we got there, I was led into a small in-between room with locked doors. The cop told me to sit and he’d be right back with an admitting physician. Of course the doctor was good looking, too – it goes without saying. The cop had explained I was non-combative, cooperative and lucid, which helped to shorten my confinement time.

The physician then started asking me questions.

“Do you hear voices?”

“Yeah.”

“What are they saying to you?”

“They say, ‘Do you hear voices?’. Since I’m not deaf, I hear a lot of them, and they mostly annoy me.” The physician giggled.

“Why’d you attempt suicide?”

I explained in minor detail I how I was a victim of the “rope a dope” Muslim system, and I felt incredibly trapped with no way out.

I was cleared and taken in, given a seat that was about as comfortable as “Old Sparky”, and told to see if I could sleep. Fat chance of that happening!

When morning broke, I was given the chance to shower. Turns out they put hand cream in the soap dispensers, so I washed my hair with Jergens, which made my hair turn into a completely greasy knot. It was like being at camp with a prank played on you. I couldn’t even get my fingers through my hair it was so bad.

I’ve often heard two things in this life. One: for every person who lives, you have a double out there somewhere. Two: God has a sense of humor. Both proved to be true that day because as I was finally starting to feel somewhat relaxed, out from behind the locked doors walked a physician. At that moment, I heard God turn to someone and say, “Watch this…” The physician was the spitting image of my ex-lover, and God was yuckin’ it up big time. I was as happy as a cat who was being offered a bath. The ONE person who had driven me to the edge without the aid of a roadmap or having had to stop and ask for directions, and HE was there!

“Oh just kill me now!” I murmured miserably.

I had to ask to make sure. I stopped him on the way by and asked his name. He was shocked and wouldn’t tell me his first name. He avoided me more effectively than if I had “bubonic plague” written on my forehead after that.

Finally I was able to see the physician who would decide if I could be discharged.

“Why did you do it?”

“I wanted out. I was tired of everything.”

“Don’t you know killing yourself doesn’t solve anything? The problem is still there.”

“Yes I do, but the thing no one ever focuses on is…some other poor b*stard is stuck working it out, not you at that point.” He nervously laughed. “Besides, what’s the big deal? Don’t we all want to go to heaven? So what’s it to you if I cut in front of you in the line? It’s not like you’ll really notice.” He didn’t know how to answer that.

“Give me one reason why I should discharge you.”

“Because Doctor so-and-so looks exactly like my ex-lover, who drove me to attempt suicide. Why would you want to keep me in such close quarters with the object of my despair?”

“That’s a good reason.” He grinned in an attempt to keep from laughing. “Ok, I’ll let you go.”

They say laughter is the best medicine, and although I couldn’t find a reason to go on, the comedic humor of a situation later on down the road can bring out strength you didn’t know you had.

My friend’s daughter is doing better and learning to look on the positive side of life. She’s learning there are always options and different paths, and she’s learned the suicide had nothing to do with her. She is no longer plagued by guilt.

As for me? I’ve learned that my happiness does not and can never come from the things here on earth, but in the love of a man I hope one day will say to me, “Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into your rest.” Life can still deal some harsh blows, but if Job could survive his ordeal and understand God’s in charge of it all, so can I. All is “Father-filtered” in this world, and that means God will never put us through more than what we can take.

It’s also helpful to share your experiences because suicidal thoughts are the hardest and most painful to admit to. It is admitting to a collection of failures and anguish that can’t be drowned with alcohol or cheesecake. Sometimes, you also have to see someone else come out on the other side in order to believe there really is light at the end of the tunnel, and no matter how bad it is, there is light if you look hard enough.

In my case, my friend’s other daughter had a friend who was contemplating suicide. I talked to her and told her of my experience. She laughed and apologized, “sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but the way you tell it…it’s pretty funny.” A week ago, I met her again after two and half years, and she found the courage to leave a bad family situation behind and start over fresh. I don’t know if my words had any impact on her then, but if they helped her…I’m glad.

Let your mistakes be an example of, “what not to do” for someone else.

Other quazen.com articles by this writer can be found here . If you enjoyed this article, consider digging it with others!