Post Traumatic Suicide Disorder

*This is a work-in-progress, of non-fiction.  It is memoir due to the fact that I was not conscious.


I was in the ICU for 7 days, unconscious, intubated. I should have died. My overdose was fatal. The doctors didn’t know whether or not I’d make it. I couldn’t breathe on my own and I still feel the pain of the tube; the tube I have no recollection of. The tube that took my voice away for years.

I hid my car where nobody could find me but made the mistake of telling one person I had driven out to overdose, fatally, and die in my car. The police found me but I don’t remember anything after that… just waking up in the ICU 7 days later, thinking it was the same day, and screaming, “WHERE AM I?! “You’re in the intensive care unit at Morristown Medical Center”, my sitter said….


To be continued at length…

F. Nietzsche’s Schizophrenic Blathers

To Those in Battle,

From the Depths of All of Me,

Ayesha, Warrior One

Even Horrific Repetition

(ad-infinitum when it is definitely time to go)


(hopelessly engulfed, ending)

The Phantasmagorical Mi(d)st

(that undercurrent forcing me away…)


(it’s going to last forever, “Help me please, help me…”)

Doubt’s Darkest Night,

(the darkness I fear; the darkness is reel)

One Must Illuminate.


Willfully Emanate.

(without doubt)

The Ethos of Warrior One:

(The One I  m…m…m…u..s.t  Become)


(my strength)  —->

A  M  A  G  A  L  M  A  T  E

(eternally as One?…)

Mastery of The Internal State.

Emma Jane

Emma J.Emma J.Emma J.

The Dearest Addition to My Family

The End

The End

Fare thee well. See you in the afterlife.


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