Please Don’t Call 911

If you knew how many times I’ve yelled, “please don’t call 911” you probably wouldn’t be surprised. But, yelling it now…to my neighbors, friends, co-workers…it’s getting old. The seizures I’m having are getting OLD. Being tired after having them is getting old. Wondering what I could have done differently, aside from perhaps not driving my car into stationary objects and causing concussions, is getting old.

I live in an urban area now, which I hate. But, I love my place, and the yard is great. It’s just that the neighbors are close, and they scare easily. Last night I couldn’t get my key to go into the key hole and I still don’t know why. I should be pretty good at that by now. A guy came to help because I was kicking the key repeatedly yelling “DON’T CALL 911!!!” (Actually, I was yelling a plethora of curse words at the key and the key hole at the time, but the ‘don’t call 911’ came later.)

Once the neighbor came to find out exactly what I was doing, I had that metallic taste in my mouth, and my dog was crying because he always knows when it’s about to happen. Boom. I hit the ground. The last words out of my mouth? “Don’t call 911”. No one ever listens. The ambulance came and stuffed me full of Ativan and now I have a headache and a brain full of benzodiazepines. Thanks, neighbor.

This one’s for you:  

When my head comes calling
And I’m collapsing in
All you need my darling
Is to leave me where I am

If it looks like I am dying
I promise I am not
I just need 90 seconds
And a Vape pen full of pot

So, when I hit the floor
You can stare or hide or run
Just promise me, dear stranger
You won’t call 911

 

 

 

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