Chapter 23
Somewhere in North Carolina
A,
Ari won’t leave me alone. If I go piss, he’s right outside the door.
He’s basically counting every macro I put into my body at this point.
I know he’s worried, but it’s annoying me.
Even now, I’m sitting on one end of the couch in our bus, and he’s on the other, playing some Zelda game and looking at me every now and then out of the corner of his eye.
I’m still tired. I guess performing a whole-ass two-hour set less than a week after being discharged from the hospital wasn’t the best decision.
The show, however, must go on.
Being in the hospital a few days wasn’t exactly restful. When I finally woke up, I felt like someone had beaten me all over. My skin around the IV was bruised like hell, my head was being hit with an ice pick, my throat felt like razors, and my chest was sore.
I was out for about a day, mostly because the doctors sedated me while they detoxed me.
Ari was there when I woke up. He was also the one who found me that night. He told me there was vomit everywhere. It was a super classy scene.
Maybe I should cut him some slack, but I don’t think he can stop me if I wanted to try again. I was successful in the attempt, after all. Doctors told me my heart stopped for about two minutes. So I know the formula. I know what will make it all stop.
He keeps telling me to take the pills they gave me. I’m still not sure I trust that shit. After I was awake, they forced me to do a psychiatric assessment. Apparently I have Major Depressive Disorder, General Anxiety Disorder, and PTSD. What a glorious combination.
The psychiatrist acted like he solved some sort of equation after we talked:
Depression + Anxiety + PTSD + Prozac + some mood stabilizers - alcohol and illicit drugs = no more sad brain
Guess I can be all cured now, but I’m hesitant to take the pills. It’s funny how after everything, I’m afraid of who I am without the demons, even though I never wanted them. What if my music sucks when I’m “cured?”
I’m also afraid of trying again, if I’m honest. Not because of me but because I worry you’ll put some of the blame on yourself when you inevitably find out.
If it does happen again…if it is actually successful, please know you were the sole reason it didn’t happen sooner.
You saved me more times than you know.
I’m sorry,
Jay