Quiet Room - Lori Schiller [86]
She threatened me: “If you do anything, I'll kill you,” she said.
Ha! If I had my way she'd be too late. I had made the final decision. There was no other way out. This was to be my last night to plan, to think, to feel, to say goodbye to the Voices and to pray that I—and my parents and friends—would finally find some relief.
I had a plan. A real plan. This wasn't going to be another botched suicide attempt. This was it. After hearing about hell for so many years, I hoped that heaven would welcome me.
My plan was simple. During the day I would drive home. Mom and Dad would be gone for the day in Manhattan. I would put my car in the garage filling the empty space where Dad's car belonged. I would close the door to the garage. I had already noted that the garage door hit the driveway all the way down, and I wouldn't need blankets or sheets to fill the space. I would turn on the keys to my car, and also to my mom's car for good measure. I knew where the keys were always kept, hanging in the kitchen.
No one would be home for hours. The car fumes would fill the garage. I decided to play “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd in the cassette deck of my car, and I decided to play it loud. I imagined putting the seat back listening to this mood music and going to sleep painlessly and forever. I felt confident that I could carry out my blueprint this time for sure. This was really it.
I was anxious to fall asleep. Tomorrow was the big day. I lay in bed, tossing and turning under my covers. I popped my head out. I buried it in my blanket. I turned on some Cat Stevens music. I got out of bed and paced around. My heart was pounding big-time. I tried taking a hot bath. I went back to my room and started staring at the ceiling. And then the tossing and turning started all over.
I needed to sleep. I needed to dream. I needed to prepare for tomorrow. I went to my supply of tranquilizers. I took one. I took two. Then four. I had to sleep. Five. I'm going to die in the morning. Six. Seven. I can't fall asleep. Eight. Maybe if I walked around enough I'd get tired. Nine. Ten. It was getting late. I couldn't keep track.
I thought about watching TV. I had to get out of bed, but I was feeling fuzzy. I tried to make it to the living room, but the walls knocked into me. I felt uncomfortably wasted. I could barely walk. How was I going to make it till tomorrow?
Robin intercepted me in the hall. She had been worried about me for a week, she told me. She had been keeping an eye on me. She helped me back into my room, where she saw the near-empty tranquilizer bottle. She begged me to turn myself in.
As clearly as I could, I explained to her that that was impossible. I needed to die. But that was okay, I told her calmly. This time it was going to work.
Robin was crying. She was frightened. “Lori, I love you,” she sobbed. She didn't want to rat on me. But she didn't want me to die either. She knew she had to act quickly. Finally she turned me The counselor on duty took one look at me, called Deanna and then a taxi to take me to the White Plains Hospital emergency room. I don't know how much time went by, but very quickly, it seemed, both Dr. Rockland and Daddy were there to meet me.
I was still very groggy. I tried with my slurred speech to beg them to let me die. I had to die. I dozed on and off. I seemed to fade in and out of consciousness as I recounted my lovely plan, my strategy to end my life tomorrow.
All of a sudden, I woke up. It was tomorrow. I didn't like being awake. I wanted to go back to sleep. Wait a second. Where the hell was I? It wasn't hell. I was in a bed. It wasn't heaven. Too many colors. Some obscure, undefined being was sitting in my doorway eyeballing me as if she had nothing better to do with her time.
And then I realized: I was back in the fucking hospital.
Part V
The 9925 Key
21
Lori New York Hospital,