WOUNDED BIRDS AND SHATTERED DREAMS

About the Book

Grandma, Granddad, and I were sitting in their backyard in the sunshine and having a beer together when Don arrived to pick me up. He had a beer with us, and I thought everything was fine until we got back to our apartment. Don began yelling and slapped me hard as he said I should not be drinking when he was not around. “But I only had one beer. We can go over any time together and enjoy their backyard,” I said. As he started slapping me around and pinning me on the bed, I thought of a way I might be able to change things. Don had been seeing a psychiatrist for years, telling him it was job-related stress, so he was taking Valium. When Don wasn’t looking, I went to the liquor cabinet, got a bottle of vodka, and locked myself in the bathroom. I poured more than half the bottle down the drain so it appeared that I drank it, took a few of his Valium, and swallowed them with vodka so I smelled like liquor. I also dumped half the bottle of Valium down the sink. After Don pounded on the door for me to open it, I did. It appeared as if I was trying to overdose, which was my plan. Don called an ambulance. The hospital was going to send me home after a couple of hours on an IV, but I begged them not to and explained my situation. I told the nurses that if they sent me home, I was really going to do it. I got what I wanted and was admitted into the psychiatric ward.

About the Author