Part 19 - Final Attempt

"Hurt" - Johnny Cash

During one weekend whilst my parents were away, and had therefore let me stay at home for the weekend, I had a friend from school come round for company. We’d known each other for many years and had remaining close through-out my turbulent youth. I had drunk quite a lot that night, and, in the early hours of the morning, after many tears had been shed, I asked him to go home, as I "needed some time to myself". I think he knew what was going to happen, and what I planned to do, but left the house anyway.

By the time the paramedics had arrived, I had smashed up some furniture in my parents living room, including a massive mirror they had on the wall (one that has now been replaced at my own cost), cut the majority of my hair off in a rage, and gashed my wrist pretty bad. It didn’t need stitches, and would hold together relatively well with some "celery strips" (very thin, strip like bandages, meant for hold together skin in the same way as stitching), and a decent bandage. This had been my last stand. I was just too tired to keep trying anymore.

My friend cleaned me up somewhat, and then took me home to his house, so I could grab a couple of hours sleep. We came back later on in the day, once I had sobered up, and hidden my brand-new hair cut up a rather stylish baseball cap, to clean up the mess that had been made. I think in my drunken stupor that night, I’d managed to smear blood on almost every available surface at my parents house. I know that I never would have got through that night without my friend’s call for an ambulance. Sadly, we are no longer in touch at this point, which is something I deeply regret.

After the house was tidy to a partially high standard, I waited for the arrival home of my parents. It was crunch time. I had to beg for forgiveness, and ask, again, to come home. I needed stability in my life, and would only get that from them. They had emotionally washed their hands of me many months before, but I needed to be frank and open, and let them help me. But I would have to work incredibly hard to get their trust back. I can never thank my parents enough for everything they had done for me, after all I had put them through, and had it not been for them conceding to give me one last chance, I’m not sure I’d even be here to tell my story.

As with the last time I had returned home, there were stringent rules to stick to:
1. Absolutely no drugs. I had all but given drugs up by this time, but I think they just wanted to stress the point, that this would not be tolerated under any circumstances.
2. Significant decrease in alcohol consumption. I would only be allowed to drink at weekends, at appropriate situations, and was to not even drink, let alone get hammered, during the week.
3. Get a job. Education was just too easy for me to abuse, and to stop attending, so I was to move into the world of full time employment. And should I loose a job through some fault of my own, I’d be out on my ear.
4. Go back on medication. At least until a time that my parents could trust that I no longer needed it.
5. NO CUTTING.

As with before, it was slightly difficult to stick to some of these rules, but I pretty much just kept focusing on the fact that I needed somewhere to live, and that kept me on the right track. The medication, of course helped, probably the most out of all the above.

I’ve mentioned before how my sleep was a major issue for me through-out any time of emotional upheaval, so when I went back to my doctors and asked for medication again, rather than re-prescribing the pills that I had tried before, I was put on something new. I’ve been on four different anti-depressants/anti-anxiety drugs in my life, but there are hundreds more different types available; all with different effects.