Kevin's Story by Kevin S (librera reader txt) 📕

to keep the meds flowing. A O2 tank. So they loaded me up onto two wheel chairs, and away we went, both nurses smoked so they weren’t mad. They did ask me to turn, off my O2 so I wouldn’t start my head on fire. Shortly afterward I was back on solid food and could make my way down to the smoking lounge (outside) by my self. When the whole thing hit me. Some one, someone I loved wanted me dead. I was such a piece of shit that they felt I need killing. I was so bad no one wanted to even come seem me not even my kid. The one visit was duty, not because she cared.

Life at the Hospital and alone


I got real depressed. really fast, then I wished that Michele would have finished the job. My life wasn’t going to get better; it was still steadily going down hill. The nurses must have been looking for that to happen, because they, (RN, NA even candy stripes) were all over me, I was rarely left alone; they always wanted to talk about something up beat.
More than once I woke up in the middle of the night with my hand being held. I would look at her, see would say softly, you were dreaming again, and would stay and hold my hand until I fell back to sleep..
I have nothing but praise for the nurses; They treated me like a king, and were all ways in a good mood around me even when I was less than a model patient. As an example about three weeks in, the chest tubes were coming out, ALRIGHT! The next day they had to go back in. They did it right there in my bed, The Doc did one side and a student did the other. It took three of the bastards to hold me still, and that was with me trying to hold still. If I ever hear a Doc tell me “we are almost there” again, I think I will rip his lying tongue out by the roots.
They cut a slit in your lower ribs, ALL the way through, then take this ½ inch plastic tube and shove it up under and all the way to your shoulder. I think I was less than pleasant to just about everyone in the room, in the hall, their mothers, and any one else I could think of. AND to make it worse, my regular nurse came in laughing at me and the things I told the Doc he could do with his tube. People didn’t talk that way TO HIM, fuckem!
When they were ready to discharge me, they found out I lived alone with no one to help me, they kept me another week. I don’t think I was ready to go even then but no insurance.
In some way the following is the worst part, you may want to stop here.
They put me into a cab and home; to the hotel I went no choice. Even the cab ride was, very painful; I had to ask the driver to pull over a couple of times so I could get my shit back together. But that pain was nothing like what was coming.
When I got back to the room it was tore all apart. The police had taken the sheets away; I had a bare mattress blood soaked of course, and a blanket. The mattresses was soaked the walls were smeared, the head board and the carpet soaked with dry blood. I could really smell it, I was so tired from trip home I just laid down and pulled the blanket over me. Except for meals on wheels I just laid there for two days.
Then Katie and Betsy came over, they put on new sheets, tried to wipe up some of the blood. I could smell the blood through the sheets. But I was so drugged on pain meds, that I thought I didn’t care. I didn’t care then. After about A week the nightmares and the flashbacks started, I would wake up screaming knowing I was getting stabbed, I could feel the knife again. It would take along time to convince my self it was a dream, it was so real. That would happen three, four, even five times a night.
It really got bad when they started to happen in the day time.
I would be staring at the TV and the next thing I knew It was happening again. I could feel the knife, I could hear it again. I don’t know how long I was out of it, but it took a long time to come back. And I would be just shaking, had trouble holding a cig. There was never any warning; one second I’m watching the TV and the next I fighting for my life again. This happened two to three times a day. I would take a long time for my heart to slow down.
As they started to wean me off the pain meds, the dreams just got worse. I would take hours to fall asleep again. I was so wound up that any little thing would set me off. I was later told it was normal. Sure as hell didn’t feel like that to me.
After a month of pain meds I was taken off them completely. I still had a great deal of pain, and Alieve just was not working. They did not want me to be alone, on the meds. I’m sure they also knew of my history of suicide. They took me off. Now I had to deal with the physical pain, and the mental. The dreams were tearing me apart; I was not getting any real sleep.
My coming off alcohol also made the not sleeping worse. I was starting to get real tired, but I was afraid to go to sleep. The terror was waiting for me.
I had been sober for almost two months, I thought I would try and keep it going.
I was so depressed, I knew in my heart that I deserve to be killed. I was a waste of air. I have always known that I was not supposed to be here. It had to be my fault I was stabbed; I had done or not done something. If I had done it, I would still be apart of the world, well this time it was true I was not wanted by anyone. Even the one person I thought loved me thought I needed to die.
I could not face it any more, the mental pain was unbearable.
I had no where to go, not sleep, not even awake I was not safe. the TV I could not concentrate, I would try to watch and the realize that I had no idea what I had just watched.
No one came to see me there wasn’t anyone to come. So I was locked away, getting so freaked out that I was desperate for, I didn’t know. I knew no one cared, everyone, me including me would be better off if I had died. I just didn’t know what to do. There was no one to call. I couldn’t ask for help, real men stand on their own two feet.
I did know one thing that would help; I called a cab and went to the liquor store. The ride hurt like hell, every bump made me want to scream, it felt like someone was sticking a knife in me...lol when I got to the store I remember thinking I’ll buy a big bottle, then I won’t have to come back so fast. So I bought a 1.75i, thinking this will last me for 3-4 days.
I got home and hit the bottle hard, all the mental and physical pain eased up. I got very drunk. When I woke up the next morning, I needed a drink. I had the shakes and the pain was coming back, so I got drunk, when I woke up I needed a drink.... By the second morning I knew I was going to need more, so I called a cab and went to the liquor store. I did this for about a week I later found out Katie, my daughter, and her mother, Betsy, were checking up on me. They were getting very worried about me. I’m told I would be awake when they came over, I don’t remember any of that. I told them I want to die and to go away. I don’t know how many times they came over. The meals on wheels food was piled up next to the front door. I didn’t want food I wanted to just die. I even made Betsy, my first wife, go get me a bottle, it was either that Or I was going myself.
I don’t know if I could have made it. I hadn’t eating in days, I was still in physical pain, and I really wanted to die. I should have never been born, I was a mistake, and I needed to make all of this stop. And the dreams still came, or so I’m told. Katie stayed with me for some time. and witnessed a couple of them. That was when she decided that I had to be under professional care. They called 911, the police knew who I was, what the story was.
So September 16Th 2003, I woke up in detox, thinking how in hell did I get here. I had been in my bed. The staff gave me vague answers. They held me for the full 72 hours, when they were up and I wanted out, I had some drinking and dying to do and these people were in my way. I had been a guest there over a hundred times. They and every treatment center, had me down as untreatable, which mean the sober you up and let you go, they don’t even try to help you.
So I started to squawk about my rights, and that they could not hold me for more than the 72 hours, and it was up in 2 hours.
Right at the 72 hour mark, they told me I was going to be committed to Detox for 90 days; I asked how they could do that, they didn’t have any family to make the motion to the court. They gave me some bull shit about the court decided to step in. I yelled and which of my doctors signed, they told me three different ones. when asked who started it Betsy my ex wife did. I really started to yell then; She has no right to any say about me. SHE IS MY EX, don’t you understand. Again more vague answers. I went off. So much so that I ended up in four point restraints with an ass full of Haldol, a very powerful trank that they give to violent drunks, or drug users.
About three days later, at least I think it was three days, it all is very vague. I don’t think I was in touch with reality then.
After three days, they told me someone wanted to see me... I asked who, they told me Betsy and Katie, I went off again. “what does that bitch want, to rub it in? OH hell no I don’t want to see her. They went away, in a couple of minutes they came back, I was pacing around with two attendants watching me very closely. They asked if it would Be alright if Katie came in to talk to me. With that all the wind came out of my sails