Chapter Three: As I Lay Here Dying...

Picture taken by: Tony Stromberg

"Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother." 

                              - Khalil Gibran

As the weeks continued to pass, knowing I had a "way out" began to have a rather unexpected affect on me. A subtle change permeated throughout my being - one that cried out in mourning over the life I could have had. The life I could no longer even hope for, and the pain of knowing everything that I would miss because of it.

I would lie wordlessly, unable to move, on my Nonna's couch all day and night, pretending to watch television while I marveled over how amazing it was to be able to feel just how many joints there actually were in the human body, and how each and every one of them felt like they had been inserted with a tiny, round, spiked cannonball-like bomb, that scratched and tore at whatever was surrounding them, with even the slightest of movements. 

Sometimes, and without any call for them do so, those little bombs would suddenly explode, and I would have to hold my breath or grab onto the couch to keep from screaming out loud, in agony. Afterwards, I would curiously look down and wonder how on earth my limbs could possibly still be intact after such a tremendous assault.

It was during these times that I grieved over the things I would never do again - surprisingly, it was the little things I would miss the most. I closed my eyes and silently wept at the thought that I would never again gallop through green meadows and forested trails on the back of a spunky horse, or breathe in the crisp, fresh air after a New England storm; how I would never again sit with my sister and laugh until we cried over senseless things that only we understood, or feel the sun on my back, and the sandy, cool salt water cascade over my feet as I walked down an endless beach.

These were only a few of the things I would miss. I had just turned twenty-two years old, and I would never travel the world, learn new things, fall in love, get married, have children - do something that actually MATTERED...How could it be over already, when it seemed everyone else's life had just begun?? 

In the end, I only made it through a couple more weeks like this.

One day, I had a VERY severe Herxheimer reaction and awoke from a twenty-minute nightmare at 4:30am on a cold March morning in an utterly dreaded panic that was almost indescribable. I knew the sun was about to come up, and the thought of having to live through another day of this torment was simply more than I could bear. 

I could hear my Nonna downstairs but didn’t care. All I knew was that every part of my being was literally screaming at me in complete, utter malfunction. Suddenly, the ONLY thing I could think to do was escape it. 

In my mind, this wasn't a suicide attempt, this was me impulsively and without thought responding to my body, and its message was loud and clear...it was practically shrieking , "Abandon Ship! We are going the FUCK down!!". 

I leapt out of bed, raced to my hidden stash, swallowed the entire jar without thinking twice - it never even crossed my mind to write a note - got back into bed and waited to die. This was the end. 

As I got back into bed, awaiting death I felt absolutely nothing. I didn’t care where I would end up, but convinced myself that it had to be better than here. I was even actually hoping my consciousness would simply cease to exist, and that I, along with my body, would die.

Ironically, after ten minutes of lying there, I had a moment of clarity, and a sudden change in heart, realizing - for the first time, what I was actually doing, and how VERY wrong and selfish it was for me to even THINK of doing. I quickly ran into the bathroom and tried to purge the poison out of my system but it was no use, nothing came out, and I helplessly stumbled back into bed, with resignation, accepting my fate.

Dying was, in retrospect, a remarkable experience – one that would ultimately change the course of my life in years to come. It started slowly - a subtle dreariness permeated my body and rendered me unable to move. 

Suddenly though, a sharp and jagged pain, accompanied by a severe sense of heaviness, gripped me heart and would not let up. I could feel my heart desperately fight to keep beating, but knew it was not going to win. It kept struggling to beat but was tiring quickly, and was beating only haltingly now. I knew it was just a matter of time before it would give into the pressure and stop. I remember briefly glancing down at my arm and was shocked to see that that my skin was scaling, as if all the water was being drained from my tissues and placed into my bloodstream in a vain attempt to dilute the poison within it.

I continued to watch my heart as it struggled and faded, only pumping with great effort every other five seconds or so. Then, with one last thrust of persistence it tripled it’s beat and came to a stop in defeat. Immediately I felt the sensation of being punched in the diaphragm as it dramatically thrusted upward, expelling my last breath, and did not intake again. I even noticed that my epiglottis come up to release it and did not come back down. 

Suddenly I felt as if I was moving at a remarkably fast pace through heavy stone, leaving my body at light speed through the top of my head. I saw images of my entire life scan through my mind as if 22 years had only been but mere seconds. This knowledge that my life had been but a flash made me feel like I should of and could of hung on for just a little longer, but I was too intrigued at what I was feeling to have any sense of guilt.

Metaphorically, I began to realize that my whole life had been the equivalent of living inside a police interrogation room and being unaware of it, and that the entire time I had been there, there had always been "something" watching over me on the other side, through the hidden glass mirror, in the adjacent room. Now I had crossed over and was on the other side of that mirror looking in. 

With this perspective, I realized with quite certainty that life had all been a dream, I even remember wanting to go run downstairs and scream with delight at my Nonna - to tell her not to worry, that it was all just a dream, an illusion, and that I was going home now - that everything would be okay, but I also had the sense that if I tried to do that, I would be unable to communicate with her.

I could also perceive the presence of the body I had resided in during my time there next to me, but felt absolutely no connection or affection towards it. In fact, the very next thought I had was, “OH, Thank God I’m out of that THING!!”. I had the feeling that my body meant as much to me as a dead squirrel on the side of the road – it had absolutely nothing to do with who I really was. Outside of it, I felt so light and buoyant. I was elated – no longer suffering in any way. I wanted to stay that way forever. 

I don’t know how long I was dead, time seemed to have ceased to exist the moment I died, but I suddenly became aware of the presence of something or someone beautiful, but they or it seemed very far away. I didn’t understand this and was pondering over it when the unthinkable happened – my heart actually started to beat again - on it's own! (How this was possible, I will never know...) 

To my horror, the second it did, I forcefully was helplessly pulled back into my body, and the feeling of it was similar to that of putting on a wet sock. It was uncomfortable, heavy, and dense, and I soundlessly screamed a protest in anguish from being trapped again in something so unbearably constrictive and painful.

Over the next twenty minutes my heart stopped and started again three times. Each time, I left my body and was forced back into it, but could feel that it was getting stronger every time it started back up again. Again, I silently protested, pleading that I simply could not live like this anymore. Suddenly a comfort came over me and I somehow knew that it wasn't my "time" yet, but this did not appease me one bit.

 As soon as my heart started pumping regularly and I could start to move my awkwardly heavy arms and legs again, I forced myself out of bed and stumbled back to my hidden stash swallowing whatever drugs I could find there. I looked up into the mirror next to the bureau and was astonished to see the reflection there. There were black circles under my eyes and my skin had turned gray – I honestly looked dead but felt my heart beating strongly inside and just knew it would refuse to stop and release me.

It was now close to 7:30am and I heard the door slam shut as my Nonna headed off to church to pray for me. There was nothing else for me to take, so I ended up back into bed and immediately fell into a dreamless sleep.

I awoke with a start three hours later to the sound of her voice. She called for me to come down for breakfast, and told me to get dressed because my mother would be there shortly to take me shopping. I couldn’t believe it! I could barely walk right and was so tired and disorientated, but I slowly did as she asked, drank a TON of water, put on some lotion, and stumbled my way down the stairs.

As I ate breakfast, I kept missing my mouth with the spoon and my Nonna only looked at me with pity, as if it was the Lyme that was causing this and not the drugs that were still in my system.

My mother came to pick me up and pretended not to notice how wretched I looked. She attempted to take me to Linens and Things to help her pick out some curtains but while I was there my heart stopped again twice without her knowing. I had absolutely no control over my body when this happened and nearly fell flat on my face both times before it started up again and I was able to catch myself. 

My mother seemed to completely miss this each time it happened. Finally, I told her I wasn’t feeling well and asked her to drive me home so I could rest. She took one look at my face and agreed to it.

Back at the house I barely made it to the bathroom before I puked up nothing but blood. I still refused to tell anyone about what I had done, and instead asked for some ice cream to soothe my stomach. I had about a half a gallon and retired for the day into a dreamless sleep, convinced that I would never wake up. To my surprise I did – the next morning.

Now, for some reason, over the next couple of weeks, I suddenly was able to SLEEP - regularly, on my own, and without nightmares. Needless to say, I did A LOT of it. At the time, I thought it might be a bad thing, but my body just wouldn't stop...I fell asleep everywhere and anywhere. Looking back, I'd have to say that this was the BEST thing that couldn't happened to me...

The only thing left for me to say after this is that I had been seeing a psychologist during the months of my illness and recall quite vividly something he once said. I remember telling him that it, "Wasn’t like I was going to wake up one morning and simply feel better..."

At the time, he had quickly replied, “Sarah, that’s actually exactly what it’s going to be like...”, and ultimately he had been right. One random day about a month and a half after my suicide attempt I woke up with a kind of clarity in my mind that I had long forgotten existed. I suddenly had some energy, grew an appetite, the constant pain I felt in my joints and body subsided, as did the tingling, burning, and numbness sensations, and I was even able to drive again. I simply COULD NOT believe it! I was still very fragile and tired quickly, and when that tiredness came, it accompanied the return of my symptoms, but for the first time in over a year I felt…Alive.