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    K.C.
  • K.C.
  • Author
  • 01/05/2012
  • 764 Words
  • 3,568 Views
  • 24 Comments
The content presented here is for informational or educational purposes only. These are just the authors' personal opinions and knowledge.
Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are based on the authors' lives and experiences and may be changed to protect personal information. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

72 Hour Hold - 1. Chapter 1

Laying on the bed and tossing the hacky-sack, it hit the ceiling with a thump, leaving a dusty circle on the off-white paint.

 

 

 

 

It looked like a happy face smiling down at me.

 

 

 

 

I chuckled.

 

 

 

 

Will I remember how that got there in the morning?

 

 

 

 

It’d been days since I slept…I tried to remember how long, but my brain couldn’t think. Was it two…maybe three…oh wait, I think it’s been four days since I last slept.

 

 

 

 

Toss…catch…toss…miss…toss…

 

 

 

 

The repetition is relaxing, but not enough to drift off to sleep. I closed my red blurry eyes, yet sleep was still beyond my grasp.

 

 

 

 

Reaching up, I didn’t need to look. I knew exactly where the bottle of Jack was on the headboard. Earlier, I had mixed the whiskey with soda to deaden the taste, but now, I was drinking it straight from the bottle.

 

 

 

 

The summer night was muggy, seeping moist balmy air into my tiny apartment, through all the cracks and crevices in the paper thin walls. My boxers clung to my sticky body.

 

 

 

 

The last time I took sleeping pills, they didn’t work. I was wide awake an hour later…maybe I should take two? Heck, its summer vacation and I’m not scheduled to work at the leather shop tomorrow…I can sleep all day if I want to.

 

 

 

 

Rolling out of bed the sheets stuck to my sweaty back.

 

 

My small bedroom was separate from the only other room that was the kitchen, dinning room, living room and bathroom all combined into one. There was a partition so guest couldn’t see the toilet, but let’s face it; you couldn’t take a shit without everyone knowing. It was best to tell guest that you were sorry before stepping behind the wall.

 

 

 

 

Didn’t need to worry about that tonight, nobody's visited in weeks. I don’t really blame them. As bad as my moods have been, I wouldn’t want to be around me either.

 

 

 

I know those stupid sleeping pills are here somewhere, but never expected to find them in the bottom of a cluttered kitchen drawer…along with a bottle of painkillers.

 

 

 

 

Dislocating my shoulder a few months ago hurt really bad at the time, yet somehow the bottle still felt half full. Both bottles in hand, the room started to spin.

 

 

 

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Get some sleep, dull the pain, and pray that tomorrow was a better day than today.

 

 

 

Why do they give childproof lids to people like me? Can’t they tell I don’t have kids?

 

 

The whiskey burned washing them down. I forgot to screw the cap back on and dumped the last bit of alcohol across my bed as I tucked it under my head like a glass pillow.

 

 

 

 

The hard edges are going to leave weird marks on my face.

 

 

 

 

I giggle.

 

 

 

 

Will I remember what happened tomorrow?

 

 

 

Feeling sleepy…I’m calm…my skin tingles…I’m relaxed as I drift off to sleep.

 

 

 

 

Sleep…

 

 

 

Sleep…

 

 

 

 

Sleep…

 

 

 

Sleep…

 

 

 

 

Sleep…

 

 

 

 

Sleep…

 

 

 

 

Screams!

 

 

 

 

“Oh my god, Kase, what have you done?” The voice is familiar. I think it’s my own…nope…it’s Ebby.

 

 

 

 

I chuckle.

 

 

 

 

Mom can never tell who’s on the phone when we call. We look and sound exactly alike.

 

 

 

 

Flashes of light!

 

 

 

 

What’s that annoying sound?

 

 

 

 

Who’s shaking me?

 

 

 

 

Why do they keep shouting my name? Of course I know who I am. They obviously do too or they wouldn’t be yelling my name.

 

 

 

 

It’s cold.

 

 

 

 

I smell vomit and piss.

 

 

 

 

Why am I tied down? I pull at the restraints, but they don’t budge.

 

 

 

 

This isn’t my bedroom.

 

 

 

 

It’s too white…too neat…too sterile…

 

 

 

 

Great, how will I explain this tomorrow?

Thanks for letting me open up about a troubled time in my life.
K.C. Grim
Copyright © 2012 K.C.; All Rights Reserved.
  • Like 17
  • Sad 1
The content presented here is for informational or educational purposes only. These are just the authors' personal opinions and knowledge.
Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are based on the authors' lives and experiences and may be changed to protect personal information. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Chapter Comments

Andy78

It's never easy talking about things like this. My mum has battled with depression for ten years and when she is in one of her depressive moods she is so low. The number of times I've found mum in a similar situation as this over the years, I've lost count, and it never gets any easier to cope with - for her or for me. She has her good spells though for which I'm thankful.

I thank you for sharing and I wish you all the best.

K.C.
On 01/06/2012 11:33 AM, Andy78 said:
It's never easy talking about things like this. My mum has battled with depression for ten years and when she is in one of her depressive moods she is so low. The number of times I've found mum in a similar situation as this over the years, I've lost count, and it never gets any easier to cope with - for her or for me. She has her good spells though for which I'm thankful.

I thank you for sharing and I wish you all the best.

It can be very difficult to deal with. Thanks for being so understanding, Andy.

KC

K.C.
On 01/06/2012 02:28 PM, rustle said:
When I first read this, I sent it back w/o edits because it didn't seem right to change a thing.

It's a very moving piece.

Rustle, now would be a good time to point out typos! :P (JK)

 

Thanks for all your help on everything I've done, it means more than you'll ever know. It's hard to let down my guard, open up painful memories from the past and do it in public for all to see...thanks for helping me in so many ways :hug:

comicfan

Alright I will admit it. I was your first read, but I was unsure what I wanted to say. I have read this five times now and have a few things I have to comment on. First, there is no denying this is your life. You are brutally honest with it. Reading it. I want to both comfort you and smack you for the stupidity of it all. There are times in nearly everyone's life when we sit back and go how did I survive that? All I can say is thank heaven you did. So many lives would be much poorer without my friend.

sorgbarn

In everything you write you leave a little piece of yourself, but when it's actually autobiographical, as in this case it becomes more than so. It also makes it harder to comment on or review in any way. I don't know quite what kind of response is proper to give here, other than to let you know I've read it, and ...

 

The first thing that struck is how you have manage to create images for the reader out of the few word you have written in this piece so far. Lying in bed , the hacky-sack (?) going up and down, the liquor, the sounds, the smells and the restraints. The language you're using is simple and suggestive at the same time. It works really well for me.

Hugs to you and your strength. hug.gif

K.C.
On 01/06/2012 03:53 PM, comicfan said:
Alright I will admit it. I was your first read, but I was unsure what I wanted to say. I have read this five times now and have a few things I have to comment on. First, there is no denying this is your life. You are brutally honest with it. Reading it. I want to both comfort you and smack you for the stupidity of it all. There are times in nearly everyone's life when we sit back and go how did I survive that? All I can say is thank heaven you did. So many lives would be much poorer without my friend.
Comfort me and smack me at the same time? :o

Believe me I understand, I got smacked by a few friends and family members after this happened. My brother's girlfriend kept trying to baby-sit me and wouldn't let me out of her sight.

 

This is one of those life changing events, I lived and had a lot of explaining to do (to myself and those that love me)

 

Thanks Waynie-poo for not hitting me too hard :P

K.C.
On 01/06/2012 10:49 PM, sorgbarn said:
In everything you write you leave a little piece of yourself, but when it's actually autobiographical, as in this case it becomes more than so. It also makes it harder to comment on or review in any way. I don't know quite what kind of response is proper to give here, other than to let you know I've read it, and ...

 

The first thing that struck is how you have manage to create images for the reader out of the few word you have written in this piece so far. Lying in bed , the hacky-sack (?) going up and down, the liquor, the sounds, the smells and the restraints. The language you're using is simple and suggestive at the same time. It works really well for me.

Hugs to you and your strength. hug.gif

Thanks for reading, Sorgbarn. Writing anything personal is very difficult for me. It usually bubbles up to the surface in my real life and I have to write it down, I have tons of journals with feverish scribble from when these moments hit me. I feel naked when I post them for the world to see. Comments are not necessary. It just me draining out the pain after it has built up after too long.

 

The hacky-sack ;) is a little round ball (footbag) used to bounce with your foot and it can't touch the ground...that's a bad explanation of it. Google it! I carried one with me for years, gosh, I miss mine :( now I want one again!

 

Thanks again for listening to me ramble.

Nephylim

Crazy. I've no idea what to say. For me, that's crazy. It's easy, isn't, to do stupid things when you're mind's messed like that. I've done kind of a similar thing (much lesser extent) and wondered... was it accidental, or some self destruct mechanism taking over without me consciously being aware of it? that's the feeling I get from this piece - that there's an element of accident and an element of unconscious design. Whatever, I'm glad you are still here to write such a powerful, thought provoking piece of work

K.C.
On 01/26/2012 08:58 AM, Nephylim said:
Crazy. I've no idea what to say. For me, that's crazy. It's easy, isn't, to do stupid things when you're mind's messed like that. I've done kind of a similar thing (much lesser extent) and wondered... was it accidental, or some self destruct mechanism taking over without me consciously being aware of it? that's the feeling I get from this piece - that there's an element of accident and an element of unconscious design. Whatever, I'm glad you are still here to write such a powerful, thought provoking piece of work
Thanks for reading, Nephy. This was a really dark time and it probably was a little of both, accident and intentional, but it's one of those mistakes that since I got a chance to walk away from it, I was wiser. Thanks again, KC :)
K.C.
On 01/26/2012 05:57 PM, Frostina said:
:hug:

well... my tummy hurts! a lot of screwed up times suddenly flashing by! Sheeesh! tough to seperate memories from nightmares!

Also, :hug: you survived! it would have sucked not knowing you! Love how strong you are, really really admire you for that!

I'll prolly have more to say.. later.. when my tummy settles, k?

Get better hon! Just knowing you read what I post is enough. Thanks for all your support in everything I try even if it is scary poetry. :hug:
K.C.
On 04/23/2013 04:01 PM, Blackman said:
Great, how will I explain this tomorrow?

The explanation has to justify the crime. I hate having to think through a hangover. I wish they'd just leave me alone and let me sleep.

Those were words from my brother. I'm glad you're doing better. My brother is doing better too. I forget which emotion was stronger in me when I found him... fear or anger.

Sorry you had to go through that. I'm glad your Bro is doing better. I am, those days feel like someone else's life. I would have missed out on sooooo much. Thank you for reading! KC
K.C.
On 07/15/2014 07:35 AM, zaf89 said:
I can really, truly relate to this, more so than I'd sometimes like to admit. You really captured the feelings well here. I'm glad you shared it.
Thanks, it's hard letting the world see these dark moments in my past. It so much easier to write fiction than let people see inside me, might be why I've been writing so much fiction lately. Thanks for reading.
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