Thursday, August 27, 2009
Hey spoon benders, give this a try...
People and friends have taken tours of the bathroom, and my brother and I always challenge them to try and move that metal with their hands. You can't.
That imprint in the rail is on now scarred onto my forehead, and nose where I fell while rounding the corner too fast into a dark bathroom.
I also died on that tub that fateful night. (story below)
I must say people who listen to my stories tend to be sort of shocked. I recently recounted the month of December in 2007. My cousin and her husband had not heard about the events of this wicked month-- so I sort of went into the whole dramatic tale.
I suppose some background is in order, but that was the year I died on the bath tub and decided to come back. Yes, I discovered death's secret!
The first part of December, 2007, I had been attacked by my biological mother's friend, let's call him. He caught me off my guard one night, and a struggle which would last five hours ensued. I wasn't in the best of shape- I was maybe 90 pounds- and emotionally drained dealing with my mother's breakdown.
This dude had some idea that he would overpower me and possibly rape me. I had the notion that there would be a fight before that happened...and there was. I'm not saying that I didn't get beat up-- I had my head cracked against the dresser. But then that's my head--harder than fucking wood!
We fought and fought and finally he gave up and announced: "You're stronger than you look."
The stress of that event would set off a drinking binge which would end with my sister and brother finding me in the house ingesting pills- ghostly white- and half dead. They were my rescue squad.
Earlier in the day I had tried to find this asshole to fuck him up. For some reason he wasn't home when I came calling. I took it personally and got very drunk.
My siblings took my sorry ass back to my brother's house where they waited to see if I could emotionally recover from the fight. My sister stayed with me too and we three bi-polars came together to survive another ordeal.
The book wrote itself...
Weird things happened when we the three bi-polars stayed together that week. My brother's father had died of a heart attack at the house only a month earlier.
The whole thing shook the stability of us all as his father had become sort of a stabilizing agent for us grown up kids! His loss was felt by the order of the bi-polar disorder, but my brother was deeply distraught-- drinking heavily every night. I honestly thought I would go insane myself from all the pressure.
Trying to stave off madness, I had my sister and brother hook up my computer and I started to write...the first book in the series, "The Chronicles of the Bi-polar Reporter." My mind was locked into the book, the imaginary story running through me without any effort.
I remember looking out at the people around me- but I could not hear them. I could see them talking- laughing- but I was inside the book. I was writing and I became the characters. I became the events of the story and I got lost there until I was ready to come back.
No sleep for the weary only death...
A week later my book was complete- my sister had left- it was my brother- his booze- and the bird. It was tough as he kept the music playing, mostly Pink Floyd's "The Wall,"... all night. Then one night I woke up and realized he had passed out.
I was so happy I had to pee. Actually, I had to pee anyway, and tried to be quiet...that didn't work out too well. LOL
Hazy from the sleep, I quickly headed to the bathroom. I wasn't quite awake and kind of confused his house for my house, so when I entered the bathroom I tried to flip the light switch into the up position. Too bad for me as the switch was side to side. Ooops!
I had moved too quickly- the darkness grabbed me--I fell forward.
I was falling and had no idea where I would land. Time slowed down- my hands reaching for something- anything- to catch me.
The next thing I remember was a sound so loud it woke the dead--also known as my drunken brother in the other room. He recalled that it was so loud he knew something terrible had happened.
It was a matter of inches...
We live and die within inches, and had I been standing four inches back I would have missed the pleasure of mutilating myself on the side of a tub or I should say-- damaging my brother's bathtub. LOL
My head took on the metal rail leaving my imprint molded onto the once even tracks.
Shit, some psychic's bend spoons, I bend metal rails with my fucking head. This metal rail has been examined by many people and each one is more amazed as the metal is solid with no give.
A bloody mess...
It wasn't a pretty scene, my brother said my blood sprayed the whole bathroom.
I remember hitting the tub, then drifting off above my body lying on the floor. I could see my spirit breaking into pieces- disassembling itself for the afterlife. It was eerily quiet except for the word "death."
Then I could hear the pleading voice of my brother: "Don't die!"
Jesus Christ, that SOB, my brother, would not stop saying that.
Here I was in the presence of our creator, ready to bow out of my performance, and yet I could not because this sorry ass could not stop trying to save me.
I knew I had a choice to die or not to die. "Oh shit!" I thought as I realized death would be boring and I would want to come back right away to avoid this boredom. New revelation! We do reincarnate for a reason.
In a flash my presence above the body shot back--I quickly resumed my life and I sat straight up. "Shut up!" I yelled at my pathetic, sobbing, brother. Yes, my first words back were shut up and a string of cuss words.
It's not a theme I had expected. Near death did not contain any religious figures--any fan fare-- only the stark realization that all we have is here and now. Those fucking Buddhists were not kidding.
My brother seemed satisfied that he had done his work and I would live. Fuck him! But I do love his tenacity-- raising the dead takes some real balls!
Take me to the hospital, I ordered...
At the hospital, I was alert and covered in blood. Two nurses worked to clean the blood which was still bleeding from the wounds. Once they had cleared my face- they jumped back from me in fear-- "It's the reporter!."
"Great," I thought.
Just what I needed upon my return from death was to be recognized at the hospital which loves to hate me. I didn't say much to them, but did not get much treatment either. No stitches, only a cleaning and some band aids.
There were two cuts in my forehead which match the rails on the tub. Then there was skin torn off between my eyes-- which should have solved the problem of my "uni-brow." However, the malignant hairs surprised me and repopulated the scarred area.
Then there was the damage to my left nostril. The hospital released me without tending to all the wounds.
As I worked on myself at home in front of the mirror-- a piece of my nose-- cut like a watermelon wedge-- fell out in my hand. I was kind of taken aback but decided it was too big a piece to just throw away. So, I found the wound and stuck the damn thing back in! I held pressure on it until it started to regrow back into the area it fell out of...Awesome!
It was a long night of mopping up the blood. I waited to be seen the next day by my regular doctor who did nothing. In fact, he told me that the tub rail had to be aluminum or I would have been dead from the accident. Well, I was dead, he at least had that part correct.
I never got one stitch but the clinic doctor said he would owe me some plastic surgery instead. Right-Yeah.
I like my scars, they remind me of my brush with death. And death reminds me I'm alive right now-- so fucking enjoy it!
Ten days after the fall I would have a stroke and be jettisoned into a portal opened up on the ceiling of the hospital ER...LOL. That's another story for another time.
My cousin just gasped...
So, my cousin and her husband listened to the story-- well they gasped mostly. At one or two points I heard an "oh my God!" And I do believe they had big wide eyes.
The issue of dying has caused more than some disagreement among people who have heard this story. There are people who want to keep their own beliefs about death--so they tend to resist my enormous claims. That's okay with me.
These things happened to me in month's time. There really is so much to learn in this life...I can hardly wrap my head around it! LOL
Have a great day and I hope you create stories that could raise the eyebrow of a bi-polar! Go get 'em!
Laura Hart (bored with death)