â€œHello?â€ Kris answers with a sleepy voice. Her throat has not yet been cleared.
Iâ€™m not feeling well and I donâ€™t want to be alone right now,â€ I said crying. Krisâ€™s voice is cleared now and has a hint of worry to it.
â€œWhatâ€™s wrong?â€ She asks.
â€œI think I took too many aspirin.â€.
â€œWell. How many did you take?â€.
â€œOh my god, Amanda.â€.
â€œPlease do not tell your mom.â€.
Click. Twenty minutes later there is a knocking sound at my front door. The dog runs past me to answer with his barking. Iâ€™m halfway dressed-just pajama pants and a t-shirt, hair up and out from having been slept in. Too shaky to get dressed, I answer the door to see Krisâ€™s face filled with dread. She says, â€œWeâ€™re taking you to the hospital.â€ I canâ€™t hear her over the ringing in my ears.
Iâ€™m in the backseat of the car on the way to the hospital. Iâ€™m still dressed for sleep, however long it may be. Iâ€™m aware of only ringing in my ears and a stomach full of swimming Aspirin. .
Beside my hospital bed I see Kris. I tell her to stay with me as long as she can. I donâ€™t want to be by myself. I donâ€™t want to be with my mom. Nurses ask me medical questions. Counselors tell me I have a problem. Iâ€™m handed a bottle of liquid charcoal. They tell me to drink up. â€œIf you donâ€™t drink up,â€ they threaten, â€œweâ€™ll be forced to insert the tubes up your nose and down your throat.â€ I do not argue, but instead try to keep the thick lava flowing through my volcano of a stomach. Eruption after eruption occurs with no way of stopping it, except for the dreaded plastic tubes. .
My mom walks in. My heart drops to the floor and I feel the dam breaking. I have hurt her so bad. I have disappointed her, caused her grief, caused her anxiety, and most of all I have made her question herself.