Another depressing chapter sorry. Finding ways to extend this story to at least 25 chapters and I thought I'd take this route. Sorry if you don't enjoy it, I know shit is getting rough to read but stick with me.
Mark was away to record some stuff with Travis and took the kids with him so they could play with Landon and Bama. I was alone in the house for close to a month and no matter how many calls and cute texts I get from Mark and the kids, I can feel myself going fucking insane.
I set my guitar down on the couch next to me. I was frustrated with my current lack of creativity. All the riffs I thought up had been done before or sounded too close to call my own. Lyrically, it was a drought. It went from a healthy waterfall to an empty riverbed.
I took off my old and sweaty shirt and threw it next to me. I don't know why really but I needed change. I went to the kitchen and took out the box of leftover pizza, sticking a few slices in the microwave and waiting impatiently for the timer to off. I tapped my thumbs against the counter and watched as the numbers counted down, each second feeling like at least a minute. I pulled it out when a second was left starting stuffing the pizza in my mouth. I drank soda straight from the bottle and shoved handfuls of barbecue flavored chips down my throat.
I threw away the remains and went up to the bathroom. I took a piss and zipped up. As I was walking out I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I stopped completely. Dead in my tracks. I turned and got closer to the full body mirror. I looked myself up and down. MY belly stuck out, my pants barely fit, I hadn't bothered to shave since they left, my hair was greasy and in the end I just looked gross.
How did I let myself get this way, I asked myself over and over again.
I slid down to the bathroom floor, looking at my body and feeling absolutely dreadful. It was ugly. I had never been a super fit guy but I was average and now even that seems long gone.
I'm 34 years old for fucks sake. How did I let myself get this way.
*Trigger Warning*
I reached behind the toilet and looked for the tape. After feeling around for a minute I ripped the tape off and set it in my lap. An old blade stay stuck to the duct tape. I hadn't pulled this out in years. To think it used to be my best friend. I pulled my pants down to rest at my knees and pulled my boxers up my thighs. Old messy scars coated my legs and these were scratches that you couldn't blame on the cat. Most of them were faded and lay flat against my skin, others raised and angry but not many were like that.
I just want Mark, I said to myself as tears began to roll down my cheeks, I miss him so much.
I pulled the blade off of the tape and played with it in my hands.
10 more days, I said to myself. You can make it 10 more days.
Mark was coming home in 10 days. I could make it 10 days. That was rational. Only about a thousandth of me was saying that, the rest wants to meet the old friend.
A few won't hurt anybody.
I pressed the blade against my skin and dragged across my thigh, the familiar sting made my nerves tingle and jump. I missed this feeling.
I repeated the action over again and that was it. I stuck the blade back to the tape and put it in its hiding place. I got up carefully, my thighs sore and red beads still dripped out of the open wounds. I put an ace bandage over each thigh and threw my pants down the laundry shoot.
I headed downstairs and took a bottle of wine from the refrigerator, not bothering to grab a glass. I sat in the island in the kitchen and popped the cork open. I took a big gulp of the dark liquid and put my head down. All I wanted was for Mark to be home. I should have just gone with him. He came with me on tour for a little under 2 months, I could have been with him at Travis's for a month.
The bottle got lighter and lighter as the night went on and soon I was stumbling around my living room. I tried to make my way up the stairs and ended up crawling through most of them. I went to our bedroom and fell onto the bed. It was barely 7:00. I passed out.
----
The next few days were similar to the previous, cutting and drinking and drinking the hangover away, although it never seemed to end.
I was sat on the bathroom floor, cold tile rubbing against my legs and back. I was bare for everything outside of my boxers. A half bottle of Jack lay next to me.
Cuts littered my thighs. Some deeper than other. They were all still fresh, only a few still bleeding. The sting was pleasant and I felt my entire body relax as the blood flowed in tiny beads down my legs. I tilt my head back with a sigh, resting against the cold, hard walls. I closed my eyes tight and clenched my fists at my sides.
Thoughts rushed through my mind of Mark and the kids. My eyes shot open and my throat went dry. Tears threatened to well up but nothing seemed to spill out.
He'd leave me if he saw me here like this. Laying pathetic on the bathroom floor with self-inflicted injuries covering my lower half. He'd leave just like Jen did. I was too much.
I got up slowly, my joints popping and cracking as I used the toilet for support. I reached up to the sink to get up the rest of the way.
I walked to the bedroom and grabbed my cell phone from the night stand. A text and missed call from Mark showed in my notifications and I cleared them away. I put a loose shirt over me and dialed 9-1-1.
"9-1-1; what's your emergency," a young female voice asked through the line.
"I've hurt myself," I stuttered out, "I need to get to a hospital or mental hospital or something, please, I can't do this," I begged.
Tears finally spilled in a violent wave of the fluids. Waterfalls seemed to form at my cheeks as I tried to keep talking.
"Yes sir, please stay calm. We are right here."
I gave my a dress quickly and I heard her typing in the background.
"Help is on the way sir, please stay on the line."
I grabbed a sharpie and paper from the bed table and jotted down a note for Mark.
Mark,
I'm sorry. I'm getting help. There's a blade taped to the back of the toilet. Just fucking dispose of it. You don't deserve this. I love you
-T
She kept talking and within 10 minutes there was a knock at the door. I stumbled down quickly as I could and opened the door.
The paramedic took a look at me and his eyes widened. Him and his partner eased me onto the gurney and brought me to the ambulance quickly. The engine started and they brought me to the hospital.
They rushed me through the ER, setting me up in a bed and dressing my wounds with proper equipment. They transferred me straight into a regular hospital room immediately. A doctor came in a little while later.
"Hi, I'm Doctor Kelly. I'm gonna need you to feel out these forms and we can talk after that, okay," she asked.
I nodded and she headed out. The papers took a while. Mostly asking my insurance information.
Questions then moved onto a more personal level, asking for contacts and my past history with my mental health. I listed the countless diagnosese of panic disorders and anxiety and clinical depression and damn there were a lot to list. God I'm fucked up.
The doctor came back and sat on the edge of my bed. She looked through my papers with concerned glances. The sound of the IV was the only sound next to her flipping through the papers.
"Mark Hoppus, he's your first contact. Does he know you're here," she asked, pointing to his name on the sheet.
"No," I shook my head, "He's in Los Angeles for another week."
"Do you want to call him?"
"No," I said quickly, "not yet."
She nodded.
"Those cuts on your legs are pretty rough. Have you had a history with self harm?"
"I cut for a years, then stopped for a long time and then picked it up again in this past week. I shouldn't have done it," I said shamefully.
"It's okay. I'm going to go call our adult inpatient facility. You're in good hands. My son was in the facility for 3 weeks. It did good things for him and I hope it does for you too," her voice was sincere.
"Thank you."
"Yes sir. I'll be back in a few minutes and we can get the transfer information. I'll be with you soon," she said as she got off the bed.
She gave me a quick smile before leaving the room and closing the door. I looked down and where I was. The hospital room was a gentle blue. Small paintings covered parts of the wall. A plant was in the corner. I could see through the shades, a wide view of the street shown. It was beautiful.
The white gown was oversized and the sheets thin but still soft and comfortable. I band was around my wrist and IV inserted above it. My legs were covered in bandages and creams to keep away itching and stuff. I fiddled with my thumbs. Trying to keep myself distracted from my surrounding and the phone calls I would soon have to make.
My phone lay on the bedside table. I couldn't call him. Not yet. Once I'm in the facility. Then I will.
I grabbed it and turned it off completely, not bothering to read the notifications before it powered down.
I was brought out of my daze by a knock on the door. Doctor Kelly came back in with a few papers and a small smile on her face. She sat on the bed again.
"The inpatient program is setting you a room up now. We can provide transportation and everything you need, no need to worry about clothes or toiletries or anything. Like I said before, you're in good hands."
I bit my lip nervously and nodded, not looking up at her but I could feel her eyes on me. My hands fiddled with each other and I was startled when she grabbed on.
"Don't worry," she whispered, "You'll get better."
She took her hand off me and reached deep into the pocket of her coat. She pulled out a little black box with different things on each side. It was small enough to fit in her palm. She handed it to me.
"I can tell you're a bit restless. It's a fidget cube. A bunch of little things go play with are on it. I usually save them for the kids but I can tell you could use one," she joked with a smile.
"Thank you," I said as I smiled back at her, already playing with the little cube.
-short but another coming very very soon-