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1,000 Miles (Fragment Three)

Updated on December 11, 2016

We staggered to the door of the hospital. The cold and dry sterilized aroma filled every inch of the room. The pain in my gut was riddled with fear and uncertainty. I sat down as she signed me in to see the doctor. How do I admit that I tried to kill myself. To them it's probably ridiculous to kill yourself over something so minor. In reality it is minor, but to me it was my life. Every picture that was painted in my mind had her in it. When it was gone, I was left with nothing but an empty stage and thoughts of what could have been.

"Mr. Porter, can you follow me," the nurse asked as she lead me to a room in the back. I sat down on the available bed and sat there in silence. I looked over at her and our eyes met. I could see the worry glazed over her eyes and the fear in her silence. A few moments later the silence was broken by the sound of doctors rushing into the room. They hovered over me, pricking me and taking blood and inserting an IV into my arm.

"What did you take and how many," they pressured.

"acetaminophen," I answered," I don't remember how many."

They continued to check me and hook me up to monitors.

"We will be back with your test results and we will go from there."

They quickly left the room and left me and her to ourselves. The cramps continued and my body ached. She looked at me and I could tell she was upset. We didn't know what was going to happen, but I couldn't help but to revert to my previous thinking. Why does she care so much? Why did I come to the hospital? My mind was a roller coaster constantly weaving through the ups and downs of clarity and self harming selfishness.

"I'm so sorry," she said with the words trembling out of her," I did this to you."

Hearing her say that caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting that in the slightest. She was already blaming herself. I reached out and placed my hand on hers. I glided it over hers, reassuring her that it wasn't her fault.

"No, I'm sorry. I tried to make a permanent solution to a temporary problem."

But, as those words left my mouth, I had a hard time seeing this as a temporary problem. The reality was that one of us was going to have to live with a pain. I guess it was time for me to do as my dad has always said. Maybe I needed to man up and take responsibility. The door swung open, interrupting my thinking. It was time for the moment of truth.

"Mr. Porter," he began," your acetaminophen levels are dangerously high. We are going to have to keep an eye on you for the next few days and monitor your levels. We won't know the severity of the damage for a couple of days, if there is any."

My heart sank to the pit of my aching gut. Even after I sat there and felt so bad for what I had done, there was still a chance I wouldn't make it. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe it was God's way of telling that if I want to make my own decisions then I will have to take the consequences no matter how much I reconciled. She broke down and I knew that the blame was only getting heavier. I didn't know what to say or how to say it. Either way, it was out of my hands. It was, once again, a waiting game.


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