I had been rotting in that house for 2 and a half months, isolated, frantically trying to stay alive. Desperately trying to claw my way out of the deep, black abyss that had settled into the core of my being. Winter was settling in and my symptoms were beginning to worsen at an alarming pace. I was hallucinating (audibly and visually), minor blackouts, random outbursts of sobbing in public areas, brain clicks (a term I coined to explain theses violent jolts my brain would experience, like being shocked with electricity), and seeing myself in 3rd person. I would sleep with my eyes open and dream that I would wake up and go about my usual morning routines, then to realize that I was asleep. This would repeat over and over again and I couldn't wake myself up. Some mornings I could wake up but not wasn't able to move my body. I would lay there paralyzed and essentially panic. My dreams were lucid and consisted of the most cryptic, horrible nightmares. I was delusional and felt inhuman. I became solipsistic and agoraphobic. Some days I couldn't really get of bed. In the week previous to my birthday, my well-being deteriorated rapidly. No one came to visit me or to see if I was all right. I was alone, and unable to cope with basic human functions. I felt so lost, and no one was there for me. If just one person would've cared for me and would've helped me, I could've bypassed all of that personal hell. I knew that the whole experience of my mother passing away would help me to realize who my friends and family really were, but I didn't expect to not have anyone there to help me.
On my 20th birthday, no one came to visit me. No one called. My roommate said he would take my to Casper to see a movie, but didn't show up. I walked to the store and bought cigarettes and a bottle of Tylenol pm. I lay in my bed for hours, just shaking, unable to cry. It was then that I realized no one in the world cared about me. No one would care if I lived or died. If I could move on, it would be on my own. I never felt so alone.
The next day I got in my car and started to drive to the other part of the state where the state mental facility was located. A half an hour outside of town my car broke down. I got home and consulted with my counselors about everything. They had me supervised and tried to work out a way to get me into the mental ward. Unfortunately during the holiday season is always filled to capacity, and they were unable to process me because I wasn?t a schizophrenic. It was a pretty inopportune time to go nuts, I guess. So essentially I was forced to cope with things on my own. My medication was changed and I started to slowly recover on my own.
Looking back to my 20th birthday, I can't help but to feel that a part of me died that day. I was just a boy, needing someone to be there, and no one was.