I was in the middle of a serious suicide attempt. I was trying my best to evade all help by driving around and running from places. I was driven out of my house and took the car out, only to find I could barely see and breathe, which severely impaired my ability to drive.
I’d downed six beers as fast as I could drink them and then took hundreds of psychiatric medication, with some blood pressure medication as well. To state the obvious, I was jacked up. My original plan had been drive into Phoenix and go to South Mountain to die, but there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to make it there.
It’s funny the things that were going through my mind while I was getting more and more ill. I was pissed at my roommates for making a big deal out of this. After all, just the day before I’d gone and bought them a stereo with a bad check. They should be grateful I’d be leaving them with that present.
Since I appeared to be getting more and more ill all the time, I wondered what final things I should do in this life before leaving it. Resting on a pay phone, trying not to collapse to the ground and sleep, I knew I had to call Dave. It would be so funny and ironic. He was a dear teacher from high school, but dude, he’d really meddled in my affairs, trying to keep me alive. Well, now I was dying, so ha!
I have a special ability to remember numbers. I was unable to breathe well, and needed to close my eyes, but first I needed to call Dave.
I used my parents’ calling card and dialed his number back in Connecticut. It took a few tries to get the numbers right. This would be such an awesome thing to do before dying.
“Hello?” He answered.
“Dave,” I slurred. “It’s Chris Campbell.”
“Chris, are you okay?” He sounded very concerned.
“I’m going to die and there’s nothing you can do about it,” I gloated. The idea that I was giving everyone who’d ever tried to help me the finger delighted me.
“Where are you?” He asked.
“I’m in Tempe, Arizona! I’m gonna die!” I was way too pleased.
And just then a hand slammed down the bar and grabbed the receiver to slam it down. It was Carrie.
“Who the fuck were you talking to?” She asked. I didn’t like her attitude.
“Dave,” I answered, cracking up as an ambulance pulled into the lot.
“Shit!” I yelled and took off running as fast as I could, stumbling and nearly tripping. A paramedic chased me down easily. This was it, though. I was on the brink of death. It was all good. I was going to die and that was the only way out.
In retrospect, calling Dave wasn't the cruelest move. Refusing to speak to my mom one last time when Carrie went to hand me the phone was. It's amazing how selfish and mean I became when I thought I was dying.