It was half-hearted. I know that now. But, at the time, I guess I was serious about it, in my own way. What do I remember? I remember not caring much anymore... Just not wanting to be around, I guess. Raymond. I only met Raymond once, but had heard a lot about him. About how he was the violent brother out of the four, and some of the bad things he had done. The only time I met him, he was drunk. Apparently, he was trying to make amends with his family, turn over the proverbial new leaf, so to speak. I never saw him after that day, and the next I heard of him, he had been murdered.

That night was one of the lowest points of this life I have, for what it's worth. I don't remember much of the circumstances, only that in the months previous, I had gone from blissful happiness to heartbroken., and it wasn't the first time. (Or the last.) I had made the conscious decision, in the midst of my depression, to kill myself, with painkillers and alcohol. Seeing as the relationship went to shit of its own accord the following year, ANYWAY, I should have forgotten about what I had promised to her, and just slit my wrists.

Anyway, I digress.

One night, a fwe years previous to that night, I had taken some panadeine forte with some Cointreau, (the bottle of which I still have), and got very fucked up. Unable to get it without a prescription, though, I decided to just get over the counter Nurofen Plus, instead. And a lot of them. I went to two separate chemists to get two 24 packs. They would ask too many questions, otherwise, and I would have found it hard to resist an urge to grab the pharmacist by their collar and yell at them.

As to the alcohol... I settled on Vodka. Absolut Kurant Vodka, to be precise. I never could drink ordinary plain Vodka straight. I have a vague recollection of mixing it with something to begin with. So I sat, in my darkened room... drinking Vodka and popping painkillers. Soon enough, the first packet was empty. It's possible that I debated whether to take the second packet, but I don't really recall.

Regardless, I took the second packet anyway, all 48 tablets, with over half the bottle of Vodka, which, I think by the time I'd finished the first pack of painkillers, I was drinking from the bottle, anyway. I think. I remember just lying down, and maybe crying about it, and just feeling so low, in spite of the Vodka, which usually didn't make me feel that way.

Eventually, I fell asleep, passed out, whatever. At one point, I felt as though I both did, and didn't want to die, which only made me feel worse, if at that stage, it was possible to feel even worse. I don't remember what I was watching, or listenin gto that night. Or anything else about what I was doing, other than trying to end it. I didn't even leave a note, or say any goodbyes. So if it had worked, no one here would have known why I had done it.

A number of hours later, four, maybe five, I woke up. I woke up possibly still drunk, with one HELL of a stomach ache. Still alive. I went out into the lounge room, to find my housemates there, alone with C (Raymond's brother) and K (housemate's sister and C's wife) there. They said that Raymond had been murdered at a pub somewhere. It was all a bit surreal, in the state I was in. I felt pretty much like shit, and angry that I had woken up at all.

So maybe something wanted me to live, I couldn't say. Death took Raymond instead of me, a fac that still bothers me to this day. I haven't seriously attempted to take my own life since that night, though sometimes I wonder if I had taken one more 24 pack of pills... maybe it might have worked.

All I got was an immunity to codeine for the next few years, and an even more overwhelming sense that I couldn't do ANYTHING right, including killing myself.

As for Raymond, he got what he wasn't looking for that night, and what I desperately wanted.

14/10/10

but..meh..what's one more?