Remarkably I'm able to write this today. I feel only slight pains that come and go-- more visual confusion than actual physiological disorders, though when I stop to think about them they flutter and rush me like some sort of off sides blitz. I remember overdosing on ecstasy, or having a panic attack after tripping way too hard smoking weed laced with ecstasy and cocaine-- taking three triple stacks, and then going home to take the fourth. I had been drinking as well, and I finally felt my heart fluttering, stopping, and fluttering. I drank unholy amounts of water, and couldn't urinate. I remember stories from middle school about kids who would drown in their own urine and I began swimming. I couldn't keep my head above the water and so I cried out for my brother, who came and began punching my legs yelling to my parents and telling me I was fucking stupid.

The hospital wanted my insurance, undoubtedly, and watched me cautiously as I begged them not to let me die again. I had blacked out four times, recalled seeing my dead friend laughing, assuring me I would be okay. My father was by my side, screaming at me, while a little girl was crying because her fever wouldn't break. Mine wouldn't either, and Chick, my male nurse was prepared to insert a cathador. "J-- stay with me, where did you get the drugs?"

"Fuck," I thought, he's going to call the cops on Jon.
"Paterson, or Camden?" He asked. It seems he was in recovery, and he was giving me a little more rope than I thought, as I was undoubtedly hung.

"Newark."
The heart machine was like a lie detector and joined my father in screaming fits, because it began trying its luck at getting through to me. I closed my eyes and heard a lot of commotion. I opened them to see IV that couldn't catch a vein. I saw a disappointed look, as if to say, "you killed yourself kid, I'm not beating myself up when we lose you."

I took the plastic urinary device and asked Chick for three more. I pissed for a solid 4 minutes and the heart machine was a lot like a drum machine now. The lights sort of seemed un-real, and burnted my eyes. My brain felt like I was trying to balance a glass without spilling it. My legs hurt, and my left leg cramped. My eyes twitched, and I felt an uneasy feeling in my chest-- like a prison and inmates all clattering their heels to scare the new fish. Everything spun and made me dizzy. I had wanted to die, and fell short of dying.

"I think you're going to be okay kid. You're a fucking junky though, look at you. We're not going to let you go unless you choose either an I.O.P program, or in-patient. You know," he began, "I was an addict too."

The word addict seemed a lot like the word stalker. It had that after taste that I didn't want to stick around for much more than the initial bite. I loved getting high, but I wasn't an addict. I was the kid who just pushed the limits. I was an entrepeneur of substances; I could drink an 18 pack to myself at 16, why wouldn't I be doing ecstasy? I wasn't shooting dope. I was tripping at parties.

"I went to treatment, and now I'm a nurse."

My dad seemed particulary calmed at this. During this crisis, he was pacing and muttering jibberish to himself; swearing under his breath in Italian and trying to find some purpose in his being there.

"Fucking stop dude. This was my first time ever doing E. I was with this girl and I wanted to loosen up so I went to Newark and asked the first homeless person I saw to get me some. They probably ripped me off and gave me Phetinol or something. I've never done it before and I took like 4 of them."

"I think you're lying. If you want to die, that's your call-- you're well on your way buddy." Chick replied, fingering his name tag as if to say, "this is everything you stand to lose."

My father and I exchanged words, and Chick gave him his phone number, suggesting if they ever need to talk, not to hesitate to call. He also said he thought that I was telling the truth, and that these drugs might make me not seem myself for a while. However, if I were to keep on the right and ready for a long enough time, I would be fine. The only problem, is that I was taking Klonopin, a heavy sedative for anxiety, and Lithium. The very reason my liver did not explode from the amount of drugs and alcohol in my system, was well beyond medical reasoning.