Part 3 Book Prologue

I reached for the six pill bottles I had. Muscle relaxants, migraine pills, Seroquel, and Advil. I laid each pill bottle around me and opened them as I thought of my recipe. “Lord, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I have to, the pain is too much.” I scribbled a suicide note on the opposite side of the one I had tucked in the seam of my bible from March:

[To Whom It May Concern:

I’m sorry, I failed. I don’t belong. I couldn’t get the help I needed. The rich get better, the poor end up crazy on the streets.

Sorry Maia Davis and Rosa.

I had to do it; it was too much to bear.

The One the Only,

~Anasia ]

[7/12/2007

It’z always the “happiest” people that do this, but screw it. Sometimes enough is enough. Read the old note from March please (other side). Dad, everything is not about what’s on the surface.

Mom, I have nothing to say to you, well -> it’s not always about you. Thanks Tracie for trying.

Always tryin’ to smile,

~Anasia ]

I no longer cared. Nothing mattered. It was over. I lost. I grabbed the shiny red box cutter from inside my pillowcase and I cut, I cut deep. My right arm had two deep incisions on it and my left wrist was covered in a red sticky liquid and felt so weak. I took 36 pills and washed them down with orange juice flavored rubbing alcohol. It was disgusting. My plan was to finish the 54 pills I had out, but 36 was the last number I reached when I felt my heart slow down and I could hear it beating inside my mouth. My arm was now too heavy to lift.

So loud, yet my heart was barely beating. I was still alive, but barely breathing.