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It's bad, isn't it? When you find your best friend passed out, dried vomit around his mouth from an overdose on the bathroom floor and not be surprised? That was my reaction when I saw Murph. I woke up for an early morning lecture and noticed that the flat was unusually quiet. At this time on a Monday, Murph would be up as he had work. Tord was staying at his girlfriend's a lot so I hadn't expected him to be home.
"Murph?" I called out but there was no response. I would have assumed that he had just overslept is most of the lights weren't on as if someone had been looking for something in every room. I walked around the place and noticed that the bathroom door was ajar and that's how I found him. He was slumped against the bath, dried vomit around his mouth. All of the pills from the cabinet were on the floor. He'd found my pain meds for my back and he also added his citalopram to his mix. All of the packets were empty. I couldn't react. I just stood staring at him but I knew I had to do something. He was still alive, his chest was rising and falling. I fell to his side and took his pulse. I reached my phone and called 911. He coughed, white foam flying from his mouth.
"Stay with me, buddy..." I held his forearm.
After getting off the phone, the ambulance arrived within 10 minutes. They found us both on the bathroom floor, I had Murph's vomit down my chest, his body limply in my lap. The paramedics took him off me and started to talk to me but it sounded like they were underwater. I just looked blankly at the tiles on the wall. What would Tord say?
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Too lost for therapy - The Wombats
Teen Fiction"He's gonna bring you down, Dan. I'm not gonna sugar-coat it, he's just gonna hold you back." TRIGGERS: This story contain strong mentions of suicide, self harm, PTSD and other mental illnesses throughout. Readers digression is advised.
