hollowed out but resonant, a void is amplified

i recently lost someone i knew, someone i don’t know i can call a friend- but someone who will have a lasting impact on my life. we were close, but it wasn’t a friendship. it was something else and something somewhat forced upon the both of us at the beginning- the beginning being november of 2011.

she was transferred to my floor at work and i was assigned to sit CO with her for an undetermined amount of time. CO meaning constant observation because she was a high risk patient. she was a heroin addict and her family had a history of bringing her drugs while in the hospital, so far as injecting her IV themselves with it. so really, i was sitting CO for her family. she was admitted through the ER for coughing up blood, something that happened in violent fits to her. she had a replaced heart valve that had gotten infected, being that her original one was also infected and beyond repair- hence the replacement. she was positive for hepatitis C, MRSA, VRE, and a rare form of streptococcus that had caused an abcess in her lung which was the source of the coughing fits. all of this was due to dirty needles and prolonged usage of intravenous drugs.

she came to the floor at about 10pm, an hour before my shift ended, and i set her up in a contact room- basically a quarantine room in which i would stay in a gown and gloves at all times. i took her vital signs, wrote up a property record, and saw her age- 25 is what her ID band said, two years older than me at that point. she was sedated at the time and i was afraid of her, and her family which thankfully had left before i saw them that night. i was afraid because i knew the next day i would be in the room with her and she’d be awake and wild, wanting her drugs and cursing me out for not giving them to her or letting her run away. that wasn’t the case at all.

the next day i came in at 3, gowned up, and braced myself for the misery of sitting with a person who had such a rumored and talked about awful history. she was asleep still, but not sedated- just sleeping. i sat down quietly and about an hour later she woke up, looked at me, and said, “finally, they put someone young in here with me.” i smiled, introduced myself and asked how she felt. she said, “i feel okay. i just sleep a lot. how are you? jenna, you said, right?” i told her iwas fine and that if she needed anything i would get someone to give it to me to give to her. she asked how old i was and i told her 23. she said, “you look like you’re 17, you have cute cheeks and big eyes. i love your hair. mine is total shit. It used to be prettier before everything. they won’t let me use my straightener.” i laughed and said that as time goes by she’d probably be allowed to bring in some of her stuff since we all knew she wasn’t leaving any time soon.

over the 2 months that she stayed with us, i spent 8-11 hours with her, 4 days a week. during that time i learned about her and she learned about me. we watched beauty & the beast, ice loves coco, and basically every other reality tv show you can think of- and made fun of every single one of them. she told me about how she got into drugs in the first place. she was 14 and her 22 year old boyfriend shot her up, and it was done. she was hooked. i asked her questions out of morbid curiousity and she answered all of them. did you grow up with no money? no, we're a rich armenian family, that's how i stay high for so long. did you graduate from high school? barely. is it true that people brought you drugs in other hospitals and this hospital? yeah, i did a bump of cocaine a year ago off a bed rail and went into cardiac arrest. as for my mom bringing me drugs, i guess you know the answer to that already. does your mom and your sister do the same drugs? i know you know they're high or "not right" when they come to see me. it's embarrassing but they're family. they're all i have.

it was points in our conversation like this one where i would say that's not entirely the case. i would bring up out of state rehab facilities in florida or california or anywhere else where she could build a new network of people and things to live for. she looked at me and said "i think it's too late though. i'm like an old lady now, i never went to college. i'm so fucked up." i told her "you're only fucked up right now because you're really sick and surrounded by toxic people. you can break out of that. there are deadbeats that are 50 and going back to college these days. you're way ahead of them." we laughed. i asked her what she would want to do with her life, if her life were normal. she told me she loved cosmetics and hair and animals. i told her that was a weird answer and we laughed some more. then she threw some questions right back at me.

why are you putting up with this, just sitting in here all damn day? because i kind of like you and i get to watch shitty tv all day. do you think i'm as awful as all the nurses say i am? absolutely not. why? because i got to know you. you're pretty kind and generous. i hear how you talk to your friends and your family, especially your grandma on the phone. i heard how upset you were when you found out your friend was brought into jail again and you called your dad begging him to post his bail. i mean, it's messed up, but you're doing all that from a hospital so it sort of says something about who you are. how do i end up being okay like you? stop using, go to another state, and focus on you. it's going to suck and hurt and be awful, but you'll get to live. you'll have a life. you can do it, you were supposed to die about 8 times before and you're still alive. you're strong enough to pull this off. she looked at me and cried and i hugged her through my gown and gloves until she stopped.

eventually, the nurses did let her bring in her straightener and hair products and we'd sit on her bed and i'd do her hair, help her change her pajamas. she said she wanted to braid mine but knew she couldn't because of the contact precautions. i casually said that some rules were made to be broken and let her braid my hair. it was a pretty solid braid, she did a lovely job of it.

in between our hour long sessions of gossiping and talking about life in general, her mother and sister would come in to visit. it was pathetic to see them coming in most definitely altered and sitting on her bed without being mindful of all the IV's she had in her arms. they'd talk to her in baby voices and then suddenly start fights with her. they would rile her up, get her angry to the point where security had to be called once to get the mother out of the room. they tormented her. the family is toxic and rotting from the inside out and this girl was caught in the middle of it. every time a social worker stepped in the room to talk about a rehab facility, the mother said "no, my baby is coming right home to me and i can make her all better!" it was almost laughable.

the time came when the infection had been flushed out of her blood and her fake valve and discharge orders were put into play. she started to count down the days. i couldn't' blame her. after being in the same room, hooked up to IV's, in a hospital, i would want to go home too- but i was scared for her. i asked her, "this is it, right? no more? have you been scared shitless yet?" and she said "yeah, don't want to touch any of that stuff ever again. i'm moving in with my grandma." the night she left was december 23rd. she was getting excited for her upcoming birthday, december 29th. i packed her things and checked her property record, took my gown off. her ride was there and a wheelchair had been brought up. i looked at her and told her i grew really fond of her and that i hope she stays well. she said, "i'm going to visit you, not like when i'm sick. i'm just going to show up and say hey. i'm going to miss you, jenna. can i hug you?" we hugged and said goodbye and then i finished the last hour of my shift running around on the floor. i thought about her all night, and days after- but i allowed myself to be hopeful.

it was only after the new year i found out she had been readmitted on the day after christmas. she was on the 3rd floor, critical care. i asked why and as per usual, she had a fit of coughing up blood and had used. i was told it didn't look good and i was advised by someone close to me to not go up and see her- of course, i did. what i saw was worse than i had expected. what once was a coherent peer of mine was now in an induced coma, not breathing for herself, 25 pounds heavier with water weight due to renal and heart failure, and trach collared. the worst part of it was that her eyes had been taped shut. i spoke to a nurse who kindly took the time to explain to me what was going on. her valve was infected again and the abscess in her lung was bleeding almost uncontrollably. her liver was shot and her kidneys were the next to go. she would thrash and buck if she was left awake because of all the machines hooked up to her and the hole in her throat from the collar, which is why she was kept sedated. i felt sick and i left the floor. she had spent her 26th birthday in a coma.

i continued to go to the CCU on my dinner breaks, walk by her room slowly just to make sure she was there and living. she was, but barely. as the weeks went on, the tape on her eyes were taken off, as was the trach collar. she would thrash if she saw someone she recognized so i kept my distance. no one really knew the damage done to her brain at that point. on my drives home from work i would feel guilty for thinking that she was better off dead.

february was the month she started to turn around for the better, despite the doctor's predictions. she started to remember things and regained her prior mental status. her blood counts were slowly, very slowly, going back to her baselines and the infection was nearly cleared. the abscess, however, was still there. she was able to walk again, with a walker and only in her room since she was still contact precautions. during my breaks in that month, i would go in and talk to her, help her walk and keep her company for a little while. we got on the topic of why she was back. she looked defeated and said, "i should be dead. i almost want to be. i'm 26 and i have to use a walker. i fucked up my whole body and a lot of this shit isn't going away for the rest of my life." i said to her, "you're right, on all accounts. but maybe sometime in the future you can ditch the walker there are medications that can help you lead a semi-normal life. why did you do it again? what the hell happened?" she told me her sister brought some oxy's and heroin home, as a favor to her. she said she didn't use it for a day and then couldn't stand it and used it. right after, she was choking on her own blood. she apologized to me. i asked why. she said because she promised she wouldn't fuck up again and she did. i told her it was going to be alright and that i wasn't mad. we continued to talk about trivial things and laugh and when it came time for my break to end, i said goodnight. that was march 9th.

i came back in for work the next day, a saturday and was absolutely swamped and got shafted with a 30 minute break. the floor was so heavy and busy, all of us were going nonstop. i only had time to eat and i figured i'd see her the next day, a sunday, since i work every other weekend.

around 8 o clock on sunday i went upstairs to the CCU and i saw room 3100 but there was a new patient there. i walked around and peeked in each room, and then a nurse came up to me and said, "can i help you with something?" at first i said no and she looked at me strangely and then i said, "well yes, i was looking for a patient. i sat CO with her for 2 months on K2, would visit her here. she was in 3100, did she get moved to a step-down unit?" and the nurse looked at me sadly and said, "she was transferred to st. charles yesterday to their rehab unit in an effort to keep her from her family. about 10 hours into her stay there, she had another one of her episodes and died." all i could say was, "oh." it looked like the nurse was going to say something else, maybe that she was sorry but i just said thank you and practically ran off the floor and cried in a stairwell.

it was over. she was dead. she was actually, really dead and she died in a place where she didn't know anyone. was she scared? did she know what was happening? i was told by someone who worked closely on her case that she definitely went quickly and that the lung abscess had burst opened and she drowned in her blood. over the next few days i was angry about it. i still am, i suppose. i'm angry that her supposed friends will remember her for about a month and then forget and get over it and keep using. i'm angry that a perfectly healthy body was ravaged by such a ridiculous and avoidable sickness. i'm angry that her family was so awful to her and didn't do more to stop the cycle. i'm angry that i didn't get to say goodbye to her the way i wanted to. i'm angry that no one will fucking remember her and she'll just be another number. i'm more angry that i'm the only one who will remember her and i was just the girl that was assigned to sit CO with her.

in the end, i know this was best. she went quick and without her family, which sounds the opposite of positive but it was. i'd like to think that i made a difference to her, like she made to me. she truly would have never had a normal life and would always need some type of intensive medical care. i want to believe that i brought her some sense of closeness to a normal world outside of the sickness that her family and friends fed her. i hope she knew how much i cared for her and how much of myself i invested in her. a lot of people in the field say they have one patient they remember forever, whether the patient ends up living or dying. i think this is my patient. i think it's her.

December 29th, 1986 - March 10th, 2012

lost in the supermarket

this dream, like many others i've had, jumps around from "scene to scene". none of it makes any kind of sense in how it links together. i met up with a few of my coworkers at a waffle house that served pretzel sticks before they gave you waffles. one friend of mine took on a waffle challenge in which he had to eat a stack of ten waffles in ten minutes. he admitted defeat shortly thereafter and when the waiter came to take our plates away he scolded my friend for making such a mess and not even finishing his waffles. we all go outside to take a look at a brand new jeep i purchased. somehow i suddenly snap into a kitchen where i was cooking a meal for the same group of people from work. one was crying, the other taking bits of the meal and throwing them on the floor. i say i've had enough of their shenanigans and get into my brand new jeep. i start driving down the road and it's night time. i drive up to a house where i see a lot of men in jumpsuits revving up their motorcycles. i get out of the car and ask them what they're doing and they say their ice cream truck is on its way. they ask me if i want to tag along and i agree to. we arrive at a grocery store where they unload and storm in. it becomes a hide and seek and destroy whatever you can lay your hands on type of game. all of slipknot decided to ravage the store, and soon they turned on me. it became a goose hunt, me being the hunted. so after being tarred and feather with ice cream and crushed waffle cones, i woke up- feeling bullied and sullen.

need a second opinion

i woke up at 9 in the morning today and stepped out to the hallway to get to the bathroom to brush my teeth. before i got there, my mom abruptly stopped me and said the words i never wanted to hear. "there's something very wrong with your dad. we need to get him to the hospital. i think he's having a heart attack." i don't think i ever got dressed and assembled so fast. i methodically went to the bathroom where my dad was slumped on the floor, clutching his chest and looking more helpless than i ever thought he could. i hoisted all 233 pounds of him onto his feet and rushed after my mom to the car. we made it to st. francis hospital in what must be a record breaking 15 minutes flat. i stayed silent the entire time. i didn't know what to say and knew if i started to talk, all that would come out would be anxious ranting. i kept my eyes on him and kept repeating his medications and dosages in my head, over and over. we got to the ER and i took my dad in while my mom parked the car. we had to check in through a security post first. "what's the reason you're here?" i don't think i answered his question. i just shuffled my dad through the double doors and asked a nurse where he should go if we think he's had a heart attack. he was taken away from me pretty fast by two nurses. they saw that he was responsive and able to breathe on his own and was hooked up to an EKG immediately. after admitting him, he was moved to a bed in the ER. his blood was drawn and he was scheduled for a CAT scan of his head and abdomen. he handed me his change, claiming he counted it and he better get all of it back. he also gave me his chain with a cross and pendant on it. i put it on. i hated seeing him in that hospital gown on that bed, hooked up to machines. my sister came as fast as she could and my dad then had the most important women in his life surrounding him, worried but not showing it. tara and my mom pulled a lot of strings to get my dad seen fast. his episode passed, it was mild. he looked a bit more comfortable while we waited for the CAT scan. finally, they came by and wheeled him away. i asked my mom for an honest answer. "what do you think this means? what do you think this is?" she told me the truth. my dad had lived an unhealthy lifestyle for a long time. he just recently started to lose weight and keep it off. he's had episodes like this before, but nothing like what my mother saw that morning. sometimes, the damage that you do to your body is irreversible is what she said to me. about a half hour later, he was brought back to us. he did really look better and much more like himself at that point. he started to whine about being there so i knew he was feeling better as well. another 20 minutes passed and the doctor came by to tell us what the CAT scan had said. he started with the fact that my dad did indeed break his 7th rib from a previous and recent fall off his bike. he then went on to tell us that he saw liver cysts in his belly. there was no internal bleeding, which was a huge relief. he told us that there was a decent amount of plaque build up around his heart. the doctor said the blood test results showed high levels of troponin, affirming that my dad had a heart attack. he suspects that the stress of the pain from the broken rib triggered a high heart rate and made my dad's heart work much harder than it should be while he was resting. beta blockers would help prevent another episode, but he needs a full work up from his specialist. my sister, mom, and i were relieved and happy to hear he could come home with us. this relief turned to a sour feeling quickly. the doctor wasn't done telling us what was found through the CAT scan. his head was scanned as a precaution because of the fall a few days earlier. the doctor called it mild atrophy of the brain. it's a pre-indication of alzheimer's. we were silent. "what does that mean?" my dad was visibly shaken, maybe angry at the results. my mom's face crumbled a little bit and my sister's did as well. i just listened. he told us that it's not devastating, but we should look into preventative treatment in another 3 years or so. i was devastated though. i am devastated. my dad more so. the doctor said to take it easy and see the specialist as soon as possible. my sister drove me home while my mom and dad drove in another car. i knew what was happening in that car. my dad was asking a slue of questions. "am i gonna be demented, sha? i don't wanna live like that." i have to stop myself from thinking about the conversation in their car because it breaks my heart too much knowing how scared my dad was and how unsure my mom was answering his questions. we all met at home and laughed about how we were stuck with him still. i saw his eyes and they were red. my mom looked exhausted. i felt exhausted. my sister left to go back to seaford and the three of us- my mom, dad, and i sat in the den and took a nap. i woke up an hour later and quietly moved to my bedroom. i sat on my bed and went over the day. i laid down and i cried as silently as i could. i cried for about an hour for my dad, for my mom, for myself. he's terrified of losing his mind. "i know i'm not as sharp as i was at 33, but i don't think i'm losing my shit. am i?" this was the question i kept thinking about that made me cry so much. my dad is not an unsure man. he's stubborn and confident and knows everything there is to know, even if he doesn't actually know. to see him question himself was a shock. to know that the day before he was joking and laughing and cursing at my sister's house, making all of our friends crack up made me realize how quickly things can and do change. that alone is terrifying. it may be down the road and i may not have to worry about it now, but to know that alzheimer's could very well be in my dad's future shakes me. it rattles every nerve i have and breaks my heart. i know he feels the same exact way. i want to give him something, do something that will erase that prognosis. i want to make it better and i can't. i feel helpless and useless in this whole situation. i hate taking things as they come, and that's all we can do. if nothing else, i just want to take his mind off of it- but how can i do that when it's on my mind too? i'm happy he's home. i try to keep thinking of how happy i am that he is home and with us. if i can hold onto that thought, i may be able to focus on just making him feel better. i don't know what else there is to do.

from crib to coffin

my neighbor tried to kill his wife about a week ago. he was going to shoot her with his gun in the basement. fortunately, she was able to bring attention to the situation by running outside into the middle of the street. the cops were called and no one died. while one crisis was averted, another is just beginning. a marriage is falling apart, maybe an entire family. i would have never thought that my neighbor was capable of attempted murder. i would have never thought such awful things were going on inside the house next to mine. he was always smiling, mowing the lawn, being a typical suburban sixty-something year old. nothing struck me as odd or off kilter. i've lived next to them my whole life. it drives the point home that you never really know anyone. every single person you meet will have and keep a secret or flaw hidden from you. there will always be something that we all keep from each other. people keep appearances up, smile, nod, and close the door behind them and who knows what goes on. to a degree, we're all guilty of it. no one is ever completely honest with others or themselves. it can be a personal flaw, an addiction, a weird fetish, something in your past, or something in your present- which is worse because that's active lying to the people around you. what forces us to lie about ourselves? for some people it's the need to be liked and accepted. for others it's simply to get through the day without feeling ashamed, a survival technique. then there are the percentage that lie to keep the stasis they've created. they're comfortable with what they have in the now and aren't willing, ready, or able to admit to everyone else that this isn't who they are or what they want. there are people who will die with secrets that no one else knows. it seems like a pretty heavy weight to carry around all by yourself. i've tried to be as honest with myself as possible, but there are things that linger in the back of my mind that i choose to ignore and not confront, and i feel confident in saying that a lot of people function like that. it's a coping mechanism and it works, so why not keep doing it?

every town has an elm street

i've said it before, but i actually mean it this time- weirdest dream ever was had by me last night. nothing in it connects to anything that i experienced or watched the day of and it all means nothing. there's no definite starting or ending point, things just happen.

my sister and i were out east and we walked passed two older women leaving a house in a rush. they were holding a a black garbage bag and a gun. they ran to their car and drove off, leading my sister and i to believe that some wrong doing had just taken place in the house they left. we went inside without calling the police. there was blood on the floor leading out to the deck of house. we saw a head of a blond man with a face that looked similar to brad pitt's. obviously shocked, we just stood there. my sister then kicked the head into the water off the deck and i yelled at her for destroying evidence and this man's head. she said we had to cover up the murder because now that we found the head, we would look like the killers. not wanting to abandon my sister on this plan, i went along with it and we left the house like nothing happened. when we got home later that night, we were both tense and anxious. i put the news on and i see the top story of the evening: man's head found attached to an octopus in the water. i ran upstairs and whispered to my sister that the head had been discovered and that we were totally busted. all she said was that she didn't want to talk about it. i was frantic and got in my car and continued to drive to police headquarters back out east. i told them everything that happened and they said that they needed to bring me and my sister in for questioning. that's when david spade stepped in and told the officers that they could not question me or my sister because the head was found on stolen property- yes, the octopus was apparently stolen from someone's backyard water enclosure. in my dream, the law was that if you find evidence on stolen property you can not use it in the court. therefore, my sister and i were off the hook. at this point, i drove back home and told my sister the great news and we were both ecstatic.

my parents then told me we were moving, and magically, we were there on our new street. my family and i moved to new orleans for seemingly no reason and we were living on a block with five bars. in the town we moved to, there was a race war going on between asian people, black people, and the aryan brotherhood. i was most afraid of the brotherhood. a group of them lived on my block and would stare at me with extreme hate in their eyes. why they would hate me, out of all people, i don't know. my mom had left for work and my dad was leaving to meet a friend of his. i begged and pleaded with him not to leave because i was terrified of being raped and killed by the brotherhood. he told me to go to the pizza place around the corner and that antonio, the owner of the restaurant, would let me stay there and make sure no one started any trouble with me. my dad left and i started walking to the pizza place and i walked into a parade where the three groups demonstrated their pride. i quickly dodged the crowd and ran into the pizza place and introduced myself. antonio was a nice older man and said i could take a seat where ever. the restaurant was pretty crowded so i just sat behind the cash register. once i was starting to feel at ease, around five guys came in and started punching and pushing the customers. adorned with swastika tattoos, i could tell who they were and hid under a table in the back of the pizza place. as the fight continued, a fat man from the AB pulled me out from under the table and started taunting me and tugging at my hair. i tried to throw a few punches and kick violently but the crowd of five members grew to thirteen and i was highly outnumbered. one of the waiters broke a glass over the fat man's head and loosened his grip, allowing me to get away. as i left i saw antonio and he told me to go to the other pizza place on the other side of town. i sprinted as fast as i could go and noticed i wasn't wearing any shoes. i ran barefoot all the way the other side of the town. when i got there, i was crying and out of breath and couldn't get a word out at all. a group of four spanish girls were working at the restaurant and kept trying to get what happened out of me. when i eventually calmed down i told them about the huge fight on the other side of town. they said they weren't shocked at all but that it hasn't ever been this bad. i started asking them where the police force was during all of this insanity and they told me they were across the street. as i looked toward them, all i saw were a bunch of men in uniforms hanging out and sitting on the hoods of their cruisers and it became apparent that they did not run this town at all. it seemed like they were just as scared as i was.

the spanish girls let me know i had to leave because they were closing after their last customer, who in fact was david spade. he was wearing a black hawaiian button down shirt and bright red pants with white ked sneakers. he was a detective in the town and was very angry at the slow service in the pizza place. he told me to suck it up and stop crying, to get used to the fact that the town was a horrible place to live.

variations on a theme

'tis the season, december is here. for some reason i don't feel the holiday cheer at all. it's not that i'm unhappy, it literally just does not feel like christmas time. i suppose my cookie baking spree will change all that. a lot of people have grown to hate christmas because of its increasing gimmicky qualities. i can understand the frustration and dread of the constant holiday music and impending money dropping on gifts for family and friends. it's an onslaught of everything red and green, elves, santa claus, and wasted calories. what i can't understand is the hatred of the whole holiday. how can someone other than the grinch hate christmas? you really have to be a miserable person to dislike christmas. it's a special time of year and it's the only time during winter where i actually enjoy the season. no other month can make snow and freezing temperatures tolerable. in any other case, i hate seeing my own breath in front of me.

you can take christmas however you want. you can make it into a giant nuisance or enjoy it for what it's worth and what it was for you as a child. frankly, i always used to enjoy the challenge of making it on the "good list". that was huge for me and radically altered my behavior for a whole month. writing letters to santa and leaving cookies out for him (and carrots for his reindeer) was a yearly ritual that i got a real kick out of. even church was more tolerable in december. i used to make gifts for my family out of clothespins, cotton balls, tongue depressors, and anything else i could potentially glue together and draw on. my sister was the only one completely unimpressed by my gifts because she knew they were just pieces of crap. that's the point though, my family really never put all the emphasis on the presents. of course there was the discussion of what we really, really wanted but it was mostly about cooking and baking together, watching christmas shows, reading christmas books, and enjoying the lights and sounds as a unit. i feel like the people who hate christmas now were the ones who were only exposed to the commercial value of the holiday season. those were most likely the kids who were told to write down what they wanted and got exactly those items on the list, no element of surprise. that's not fun at all, especially for a little kid. the presents aren't important.

i've always loved gift giving though. i love composing the perfect gift that i know will "wow" whoever it is i'm giving it too. the person this year who's getting the "wow" factor is definitely my mom and she absolutely, 100% deserves it more than anyone else i know. i get the rush of giving from her, too. she's definitely instilled that in me.

christmas should be enjoyed by the masses for more than just the flashiness of what it's become. i suppose i've left all other holidays out of this post, but you get the idea. apply it to whatever you celebrate.

a heart that beats as both siphon and reservoir

a friend of mine told me today that this was jeff buckley's death anniversary. i quickly corrected this friend, who was not even close- his death date is may 29th, 1997 to be exact. it did however get me thinking about him as i sometimes do, considering he is hanging above my bed in poster format. ever since i was twelve years old, i've had a love affair with dead men and their tortured souls. jeff buckley, elliott smith, nick drake, jason thirsk, nick traina- all musicians, all very much dead by their own hand.

i consider jeff buckley's death a bit of a mystery though. he was known to have a history of bipolar disorder and manic depression. most of me believes that he went swimming in wolf harbor river fully clothed with boots on thinking that he could walk on water or breathe underwater. i don't think he wanted to die. i don't think it was his intention at all that evening to drown. i believe he was in the midst of a manic episode. i wonder what exactly he was thinking when he did it. i wonder if he had a moment of sanity where he knew he was drowning and dying or if he tried to come back to the surface for air.

i go through the same motions with elliott smith and the fact that he stabbed himself in the heart. was there a split second he wished he could take it back while he was bleeding out? i'm not sure you're even capable of feeling fear or regret after making a conscious decision to kill yourself. it seems like after you go that far there is no turning back. once you are so miserable, isolated, and numb i don't think you can experience the normal ebb and flow of emotions. with this opinion, i suppose i've answered my own question: they didn't feel a thing.