The Day I Died
And why I wished at the time I had stayed that way
When I died , I was sitting in a Walmart parking lot in the back of a friend’s BMW. It had been a long day already, my best friend had died the week prior, and I hadn’t done any dope all day.
I was so fucking ready to get high.
I let my homeboy mix my shot, which I NEVER do, and when he passed it back to me I remember thinking, oh he made it too strong, but because I am a junkie, when I went to do it, I pushed the whole thing anyway.
I got the warm and fuzziest right away…said to my friend, Damn B you just made my whole week, and then promptly fell out.
I remember having this incredibly vivid dream in which my recently deceased best friend and I are sitting facing each other, having a chat.
I don’t recall the exact dialogue between us, but basically it consisted of me telling him how much I loved and missed him, and how I was so glad to be with him. What he was saying to me was that it wasn’t time for me yet and I had to go back.
The entire time we were having this conversation, I could sense something in my peripheral, trying to distract me from my friend. Some instinct told me that if I looked away from him to see what was trying to get my attention, my friend would disappear.
But as we continued to talk, whatever was going on in my peripheral continued to grow louder and more persistent, and my name was being called now, as well.
Still I tried to ignore it but finally out of frustration, I looked over and said, What??!!
The minute that I did, I took a huge gasping breath, opened my eyes, and saw that I was still amongst the living, still at Walmart, although no longer inside the car, but on the curb outside of it.
Soon as I saw this, I burst out crying. I had been so happy and so at peace before I came to.
Utterly bereft, and having lost almost all of my friends to overdose or to drug related deaths, I felt like being revived was a punishment instead of a blessing. It took me some time before I was able to view what happened with gratitude instead of self-pity, and disappointment.
Now, however, I am able to see it with a much healthier perspective. Shortly after my overdose, I finally got off heroin and have been clean from it for 163 days.
I use this as part of my story and share it whenever I feel it might affect change in someone. Or at least make them think.
Even if it doesn’t have the desired effect, there is healing in the telling, and I can tell it now with a smile, remembering that, for all intents and purposes, my best friend made a journey to help me save my life.
