The first time was probably in middle school. Twelve years of pretty much being the man of the house and having to do anything and everything needed to keep things going will do that to a person. So, one day, I decided to try to, as Eminem suggested he would if he could, swallow a bottle of Tylenol. It didn’t do too much, besides a bad headache and throwing up until I couldn’t see straight. I played it off as me just being sick. Just not “that” kind of sick.
The second time was sometime in high school, somewhere between Ms. Pink Jacket rejecting me and finding out that my father was pretty much on his (two-year-long) deathbed. This time, I tried a penknife along with the pill swallowing. I didn’t succeed, because I ultimately, after cutting through flesh, realized how stupid it was. I mean, I was going to college in the next couple months, so I still had time. Plus, if you knew how hard you have to jab yourself with a penknife, you’d know how both fucked up and “fuck it” I felt.
The third was a bit more dramatic.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
“Who’s Dezeray,” Raquel asked me violently. My drunken haze from the night before came freakishly clear. I was halfway in pajama pants and halfway passed out. The night before, I decided to go out, after taking my anti-anxiety meds, and get completely shitfaced.
“Who’s Dezeray,” she asked again, throwing my phone at me.
|Once and for all, Dezeray did not push
me to be “unhinged.”
Dezeray was a friend of mine, at the time, who I’d began talking to on a level that bordered between friend and emotional partner. We laughed, we joked, we bitched about our respective lives, it was harmless. Until a few weeks before this incident. That was when things started to cross the line from harmless banter to something people around me began to worry about. It was around that time that I started to develop feelings for Dezeray, partly because of my feelings of neglect towards Raquel, partly because of that whole 80/20 thing, partly because she was there and Raquel wasn’t–mostly because she was preoccupied with our son and some family issues that had sprung up. So, on that Friday night, I started texting Dezeray some sweet nothings. Pretty much, stuff along the lines of “I wish I’d met you before” and stuff like that.
“She’s a friend,” I told Raquel, halfway serious, halfway trying to save my ass.
“I’m not cheating on you,” I repeated over and over.
“I think it’s best you go somewhere for a bit.”
“But, Raquel, I’m not cheating,” I screamed at her, awaking her mother who was staying with us at the time. Raquel led me into our room.
“You need to chill out for a bit, then maybe we’ll talk.”
Distraught and emotionally confused, for several reasons, I began doing something that I hadn’t done in a long time. I reached up on our dresser, popped the cap on my Clonazepam tablets and took a few. Then came the Clonidine tablets. Then the Citalopram. Then a few swigs of alcohol. By this time, I was completely belligerent, all because I knew what I did was wrong, but I didn’t know how to deal with it. I didn’t know what to do. I was under a lot of stress and I didn’t think that talking to someone outside of Raquel would be that bad. I was working a part-time job. I didn’t have enough money to provide for my family. My folks back home were going through it. But, I was still cognizant of what I was doing.
So, I started cutting myself.
First, it was just one of those “cutting” moments people have. After a while, the blood started dripping onto my white tee shirt. But, it wasn’t enough. I went into our kitchen, went to the drawer, and pulled out a steak knife. Intent on just ending it all, I first positioned it at that exposed part of the ribs where it’d penetrate my already-injured heart. Then, I held it against my neck. As I began pulling it across my neck, Raquel’s mother happened to, out of the corner of her eye, see it. Stopping me before I finished the job, she bear-hugged me until I dropped the knife.
I called Dre, telling him some of what had happened, telling him that I needed to get out of this house before I fucking lost my mind. Around 12:30, he came to my apartment in his white Ford truck, and away I went.
I wore long-sleeves and a button-up that covered my neck, so he wouldn’t ask questions.
Looking back, it wasn’t Dezeray who drove me over the edge or halted my relationship with Raquel, hence my “Two Sides” song. It wasn’t Dezeray who drove me to be “unhinged.” Hell, Dezeray, once I completely began to lose it, backed away–possibly because it reminded her of one of her exes, mostly because I appeared “thirsty” for her. To be fair, I was completely deranged by the time that I tried to get with Dezeray–and had pretty much left Raquel and my family to move back to Baltimore–partly to clear my head, partly to try to work things with Dezeray. Neither worked out that well, as I lied to Raquel about my “relationship” with Dezeray and I didn’t get my shit together. Because of those things, Dezeray backed away and I fell deeper into this abyss I’d created.
|I’m not ashamed to talk about this.|
No, that unhinged moment happened when I, perhaps just stressed out and doped out of my mind, wasn’t afraid anymore. And I knew what I was doing, but I wasn’t afraid anymore.
I wasn’t afraid to die. I wasn’t afraid to leave everyone behind. And, looking back, that’s a scary thought. A selfish one, as well. From that day on, I completely lost it. I attacked friends, put out work that was contrarian to everything I believed in, I even left Raquel by herself with our child. For what? Because, honestly, due to the pills, I’d lost all inhibitions. Even when I took them properly, I was a completely different person. An ugly person. A person who didn’t give a fuck who I hurt–or how bad I hurt them–just as long as I was able to be okay. When that was added to my mental breakdown that was happening, I just didn’t care. I told everyone that I was okay.
But, I wasn’t ok. Deep down, I knew everything I was doing while completely unhinged was wrong. But, I couldn’t stop myself. It was like I lost complete control of who I was as a person. Only one thing even remotely began to bring me back from the brink.
These days, I still find myself having panic attacks, but they’ve not escalated to the point of suicide attempts. I hope that I can keep them that way. These days, I don’t talk to Dezeray much either, outside of a text here or there. It’s probably for the best. These days, I’m medicating myself properly to try and avoid any sort of unhinged moments similar to these. And, I’m trying my damnedest to not go down those dark paths again. Honestly, it does get hard, but I know that I have people that love me and support me and would hate if I did something completely stupid.
To hear more of my climb out of my self-created abyss, check out Songs For… (The Rebirth and Evolution of the Modern Male) when it releases Saturday, August 17th, 2013.
For previews, visit smarturl.it/s4preview (That’s also an Amazon link, so you can buy it on Saturday. Double win and shit)
(PART FOUR OF THIS SERIES WILL DEAL WITH THE MUSIC OF “UNHINGED SPEED,” INCLUDING MY DEBUT ALBUM #RAQUEL RELOADED aka #ONEYEARLATER)
PS: IF YOU, OR ANYONE YOU KNOW, IS THINKING ABOUT SUICIDE, IT’S NOT WORTH IT. NO MATTER HOW STRESSED OUT YOU GET, NO MATTER HOW FUCKED UP SHIT IS IN YOUR LIFE, SUICIDE IS THE WRONG WAY TO GO ABOUT IT.