kss or maybe over_dose?

anyway, that post on requiem_for_a_dream got me thinking, and I guess I switched into 'dafremode'. pardon my ramble.

Correct me if Iím wrong, but I donít think an O.D. is the idyllic way to check-out that people imagine. Other blather_peeps with first hand experience can jump in and confirm or deny this, but I made a half-assed attempt at overdosing once, and the experience really sucked.

To tell this story, we must travel back to 1991, when our hero kss was a heartbroken, struggling, and gloomy little fella. In a fit of angst, loneliness, and self-loathing, I decided to go on a record-breaking numbness bender. At the time I was into Painkillers and Booze - the Cadillac of buzzes - which developed during the year I dislocated my shoulder 6 times in 4 months. The school docs were generous with the painkillers, and I naturally saved for partying. Well, to set about asking the abyss what it had to offer, I rounded up all my pills got out the Wild Turkey. With an air of determination I tossed down about 5 times more than seemed prudent. Then I sat around and drank and wrote and drank more and then I couldnít write, so . At that point I put on my walkman and went to bed. I wasnít sure what would happen, but I knew that I had pointed the Cadillac straight for a cliff and taken my hands off the wheel.

I guess if I really wanted to go over the edge I would have done some research, to be sure I would take enough. Which I didnít. Guess I wasnít 100% ready. Anyway, I basically became paralyzed, lost in a half-conscious dream-drift that dangled me somewhere between sleep, coma, and who knows where. It was like attaching weights to your feet and getting into warm, clear water. Sounds nice so far, but it wasnít. The problem was that I didnít know what would happen, but was still conscious enough to think it over, and was whacked out enough to be unable to get help. As I sank deeper and deeper, I could still see the surface, but swimming toward it just slowed the sinking, and there was no way I could move, talk, shout, or do anything. In the midst of this heavy, doomed feeling there was a clear, quiet voice in my head. It was my future talking, and it said ďThatís it, friend. Thereís no getting off this ride until it comes out the other side. Better hope thatís what you wantedĒ. Man, that sucked. I remember feeling powerless, scared, and horrible. I was totally conscious that I was heading toward never waking up again, the fact that I at least called deathís pager, and was just waiting to see if death called back. What made it worse was that I could do nothing, just watch and drift deeper and deeper. Soon I could not even resist, and it all went blank.

I have to say, Iím glad that wasnít the end. Now, Iím not telling anyone what to do or donít do Ė just relaying a personal experience for general consumption. Iíve realized I really do want to stick around, and the more you get over the crap, the easier the next crap gets. Besides, getting old is a chance to make a bunch of young people suffer though the telling of my wisdoms and stories. It seems like a legit license to make a royal pain in the ass of myself. Iím going to be a strange old man that sits in my favorite chair, drinking bourbon and talking to myself, occasionally whipping a handgun out of the side table and waving it around.
god amen 021015
zaxary very touching. i like this website, howabout you? 030406
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