a few weeks ago i was thinking about k!lling myself.
i spent every night smoking alone by the lake trying to keep myself away from the bottle of pills in my nightstand.
this morning i fell off an electric scooter on my way to work, scraped myself up badly and had to go to urgent care. when i hobbled home, the cats yelled at me because they hadn't been fed. annoyed tails wrapped around my legs, brushing my stinging knees.
i wasn't wearing a helmet.
that terrifying split-second in midair plays over and over again in my mind. every nurse i saw told me the same thing: i got so, so lucky.
there's another timeline in which i didn't absorb my fall with my now-sprained shoulder. instead, my head hits the concrete with a sickening crack and i bleed out on the pavement on a quiet little back street. my manager thinks i no-showed and my roommates don't know i'm missing until they get off work. my partners across state lines don't find out until much later in the day, when they get a call that sucks the air from their lungs. the cats paw at my door and pace around all day meowing for their breakfast.
isn't it funny how people never stop needing you, even when you convince yourself otherwise?
