Since I have not moved, eaten a real meal, or thought about anything besides baseball and killing myself for the past two days, I text P for some Ketamine. I text P instead of L because I think L might be mad at Charley for getting drunk and saying racial slurs and since I am friends with Charley then L might be mad at me by proxy. P doesn’t get back to me for three hours. I text him again and he says he’ll be there in twenty minutes.
P’s girlfriend is sitting in the front of the car with him. It’s the first time I’ve seen her. I’m too depressed to open my eyes all the way and they have to motion their thumbs towards the backseat a few times before I understand what to do.
I’m relieved that I am sitting next to a bottle of Hennessy in the backseat because P and his girlfriend would have to turn their heads all the way around to see how unshowered and stupid and sad I look. “I’m sorry for the wait,” P says. “We were eating.”
“No worries,” I say, and I walk back to my apartment, and I imagine P and his girlfriend eating dinner before they got here, the type of dinner that takes three hours to eat, and I imagine them drinking the bottle of Hennessy after they leave here, and then I do the Ketamine in my room by myself.
—
I wake up less depressed and figure the Ketamine has done its job. I shower and do the dishes and get coffee. Then I start to cry. I get in the bathtub for about two hours. I think about killing myself, and wonder if I should put the computer and the phone in the bathtub with me, and whether or not I should go get a bottle of vodka or if I should just rawdog it, or maybe I could just UberEats the bottle of vodka, but then I start to get very scared about what will happen after I die. My relationship with God has been very dodgy lately. I feel like my life on earth is hell and I’m afraid that when I die I will be in a different type of hell. I am in hell limbo. I texted Linda about my dilemma the day before. She wrote: I really hope you never do something like that. Even though maybe its not my place to say. But heaven will always be waiting for you in the next life.
I return my pruned body to my bed and start screaming and begging God to help me. I ask him what I am supposed to do. I say I cannot do this for the rest of my life.
I was supposed to go with Alex Bienstock to Matt (gay)’s going away party at Dayglow. I text Alex that I am having a suicidal meltdown and that I might be late. He tells me to tell him what is going on but I am too busy screaming and begging but after an hour or two I see the message and tell him what is going on. He calls me a car to his house. I am sobbing. When I exit my building, I see there are new people moving in. I am ashamed of the first impression I am making. I decide to transmute my shame into hatred for my new neighbors. I get to Alex’s house. I am still sobbing. He puts on Little Rascals. I tell him I am afraid of dying. I tell him that I want to kill myself. He tells me I am not allowed to kill myself and that when you die nothing happens. He brings me some salami and a Budweiser. I do some more Ketamine. He turns off Little Rascals and he turns on SpongeBob. I start to laugh, especially at the episode where Patrick and SpongeBob think Squidward is an alien. Alex lets me play with his gun. We arm wrestle.
When I get tired, Alex calls me a car home. We wait outside for it to come. I do charades of the different characters from SpongeBob. I extend all my limbs outwards. He says, “Patrick.” I hold my arms flat against my torso and turn my feet out. He says, “Squidward.” I crouch on the sidewalk and he says, “Gary.” My car arrives and he says, “That’s your car.”
#kathydontdoit