It was drizzling that day. The sky was dark and gray, it was January, and cold. As soon as I was certain I was alone, I began rummaging through both medicine cabinets, determined and unemotional, opening every bottle, and indiscriminately dumping the contents into a large plastic Seahawks cup step-dad brought home from a game one Sunday years before. The cup was so old, the design on the side was wearing off in giant sections so now all you could see was half a football and the letters AWKS.
Mom never threw out medicines when no longer needed. So there were lots of pills. The sixty-four-ounce cup in my shaking hand was almost three-quarters full. I didn’t leave a single pill in either cabinet. I put the empty bottles carefully back on the shelf so not to arise suspicion. I would do this. And I would succeed.
I knew step-dad had severe allergies, so there was probably some of that medicine in there. And there were mom’s diet pills. And there was penicillin from when little sister had Strep throat the year before. The penicillin was my best bet, since I was allergic to it, and knew it could kill me. There was also lots of aspirin, and Ibuprofen, and sinus medication.
Once I had all the pills, I filled a thermos with water. I wrapped the blue and green watch I got for Christmas the month before onto my wrist. This way, I’d know when they’d start coming to look for me. I hoped by the time they thought to look near the railroad tracks, it’d already be over.
I pulled the blue cozy knit sweater I’d worn to school that day over my head, and tossed it on the back of a chair in my bedroom. I straightened my hair, and looked around the room, knowing it’d be the last time, and made sure everything was in place – neat and clean. I wondered, briefly, if I should leave a note. But what would I say? “I’m sorry”? I wasn’t sorry.
There’d be no note.
As I walked out the front door, the totality of what I was about to do hit me, and I began to cry, without making a sound. Hot, silent tears streamed down both cheeks as I walked quickly toward the tracks in a thin, pink t-shirt and jeans. The tears felt especially warm in the cold air. I might as well let mother nature help me get the job done more quickly. If the pills wouldn’t work – maybe I’d get hypothermia.
Our dogs, Sunny, the four-year old golden retriever, and Murphy, our two-year-old cocker spaniel, followed me. They wagged their tails, pink tongues hanging out, excited to be on a walk. I yelled, my voice choked with tears, and frustration, “Sunny! Murphy! Bad boys! Go HOME!” I pointed toward the house with the most authority I could muster, trying to shame them, or scare them, into leaving. Sunny briefly put his tail between his legs and cowered, upon hearing my voice, but soon dismissed me, and resumed his play. Murphy wasn’t fazed by my scolding, or my demands. The dogs ran ahead, stopping every now and then to sniff something, or chase a bird. I didn’t have time to mess around with the dogs. Time was running out. I had to do this now. I couldn’t wait any longer. I’d just have to ignore them.
I reached the steep, rocky trail, newly muddy from the recent rain, under the railroad bridge, that led down to the river. I had to get down quickly, and without spilling the pills or the water. It was difficult to balance, and I slipped once, almost falling, as I ran down the narrow trail, and the dogs pushed past me forcefully, in a hurry to beat me to the bottom.
Under the railroad bridge, next to the raging river and tall cedars, I sat down and started swallowing the pills, shivering in the cold. I saw goose bumps on my white arms, and my teeth were chattering. At first I took two or three at a time, and realizing how long that was going to take, starting shoveling mini-handfuls into my mouth. Sunny and Murphy were running around, sniffing ferns, and lapping up rain puddles that had settled on the riverbank. I was frantic to get the pills into my stomach, but it was challenging to swallow and cry at the same time. I choked a little bit. Sunny ran over and licked my face, as if to comfort me. Murphy, seeing Sunny near me, jumped into my lap, knocking a few pills out of my palm. Their warm bodies and hot breath stopped my shivering for a moment. Despite myself, and through my tears, I smiled at them, cooing, “Good boys. Good puppies.” I looked down at my new watch – mom and step-dad would be home in an hour. I had to hurry. I couldn’t allow for them to come home and start looking for me while I was still alive.
I swallowed another small handful, and by now I was running out of water to drink. I’d have to get some out of the river. I had to swallow all the pills. I didn’t know how much time it was going to take for the pills to kill me. I choked and gagged as I stuffed more pills into my mouth.
Tears and snot made everything wet and I dropped the plastic cup. Little white round pills, pastel pink oval pills, bright blue gel-filled pills. Yellow caplets and green capsules. The perfect little clean pills spilled onto the muddy ground. I thought how harmless they looked, and how small. I rushed to rescue as many of them as I could, screaming, “Sunny! Murphy! Go away! Stop it! Get out of the way! Don’t eat those! GO HOME!”
I had to take the dogs home and lock them in their cage. I couldn’t do this in front of them. And they were getting in the way and messing everything up. I couldn’t bear to look at their bright eyes and wagging tails any longer. I couldn’t bear for Sunny to lick my face as if he knew something. They were making me feel like I was making a big mistake.
I ran home, knowing the dogs would follow, which they did, and locked Sunny and Murphy into their cage. They looked at me from behind the metal rungs, sadly, as if I ruined their good time, and didn’t understand why I’d do this to them. I said, “I’m sorry you guys,” and turned around, heading back. I was on the street, running toward the railroad tracks, panting, and anxious, when I heard little sister’s voice, from somewhere behind me, shouting, “Katie! Katie!”
I turned around and saw her get out of a car, and the car sped away. She came running toward me, asking me what I was doing, first curious, then with concern. I yelled, since she was still far away, “Don’t worry about it! I’m just going for a walk! Go home, I’ll see you later!” I tried to make my voice sound normal.
But I guess she knew something was wrong. Maybe because I wasn’t wearing a coat, and it was freezing out. Or maybe because she was my only little sister, and we were bonded in a way that allowed her to know. Whatever the case, she followed me down to the river bank, running behind me, and asking me to slow down so she could catch up. When we got to the bottom of the trail, she saw the cup with the pills, and the thermos, and some of the pills still stuck in the mud below. She screamed, “What are you doing, Katie? What are you doing? Have you swallowed any of these? What’s going on?”
I begged her to leave, and forget about it, and just go home. I tried to make my voice sound calm as I pleaded with her, “Sissy! Don’t worry about it. PLEASE. Just go home. PLEASE. Let me do this alone. You don’t understand. And this doesn’t concern you!”
But she was hysterical by now, crying and asking me questions I couldn’t make out through her sobs. I hugged her, and stroked her hair, and asked her to please just go home. She pushed me away, turned around, and ran up the bank, up the trail, and I knew she was headed to the nearest neighbor’s house. And I knew she was going to call 911.
I had some time before they’d come – maybe if I took more of the pills they’d kill me before the ambulance could arrive. But in reality, I knew it was over. I knew it was too late. That I had fucked up. That I was caught.
But a tiny part of me held on, hoping I still had time. I swallowed five more pills, and instead of the pills going down, already-swallowed pills came up. I puked a watery substance, mixed with still-whole pills that were rejected by my stomach – covering the muddy ground around my feet. The more pills I tried to shove down my throat, the more I gagged. The more I puked up. I couldn’t control my gagging reflexes. My stomach was so full, it hurt.
I was such a failure. I knew I was going to be in big trouble with my parents. Even bigger trouble than ever before, and I was scared as hell to find out what would happen to me now that I had failed. I didn’t have a Plan B, because I didn’t think I’d need one. The pills were the only plan, and I had no back-up if it didn’t work.
Before I was lifted into the ambulance, I heard mom, crying, and a stranger asking me, “What pills did you take?” My sister shrieked, “Is she going to be alright? Is she going to live? Mom? Dad? Will Katie be alright?”
Step-dad stood back, looking on, expressionless. I knew he was ashamed of me – disgusted by me – thinking how weak I was.
I was slipping in and out of consciousness – everything was confused. A young E.M.T. looked down at me on the stretcher and asked, sarcastically, “What’s wrong? Did you and your little boyfriend get into a fight? Is that why you did this?”
Hearing this, hot tears of shame and embarrassment ran down the sides of my face, into my hair and ears. I knew this was how people thought of those who tried to kill themselves, and that was why I didn’t want to fail in the first place. This woman was wrong – she knew nothing about me or my life. But I could still feel her judgment, and I knew there was nothing I could say.
The ambulance rushed me to the hospital, and the inside of it was dark – I could see red lights flashing. I guess they were reflecting in the windows. I could hear the siren of the ambulance, and we seemed to be going really slowly.
I cursed myself for my stupidity and failure.
Next time, I wouldn’t be so stupid. And I wouldn’t fail. I’d use a gun, or hang myself, or slit my wrists. But next time wouldn’t end like this.
The sirens echoed in my ears for months afterwards. And sometimes still ring in my head.
