I laid on the bed, tears calmly streaming down my cheek while my mother held my head in her lap. The doctors had called her in late that night to stay with me since I was exhibiting suicidal tendencies.
Did they stop to think about the copious amounts of drugs they had prescribed me?
She had tears in her eyes too and I wanted to wipe them away but instead laid there saying calmly “I’m just going to smash my head against the toilet over and over again until it’s…over.”
She soothed me, ran her fingers through my hair, “Britt, you will get through this.”
“No, I won’t. It’s too late, what’s done is done…I am done. Just take me to Dad, I want to be in heaven with Dad.”
She continued to stroke my hair and then I awoke the next morning…