Remember how I was talking about ideas of death.. taking my life, etc. I was sitting here, picturing my wrists being sliced..wondering how I'd go about doing it.. maybe I should just drown myself in the tub. And then my kitty would walk by, and I'd be reminded that if I'm not here...there'll be no one to take care of her. 

When I suddenly woke up this morning with a need to pee, maybe it was the abrupt way in which I woke and got up, but somehow, I made it to the washroom and I remember gasping for air. There was something wrong, I couldn't breathe. I was dizzy and I wasn't quite wheezing, but it was really hard to breathe. And I remember thinking, "I'm scared to die. I'm scared to die." I tried to compose myself, so that I could get up, walk to where my pumps were. Fumbling. I could barely stand straight, everything was spinning, I couldn't breathe. I got my pumps, one in each hand and made my way to the sofa. I heard something fall, hit the floor. But I couldn't see, I didn't know what fell. When I made it to the sofa, what seems like decades later, I was wondering why I only had one pump in my right hand...what happened to the one in my left hand. I looked up, seeing what had fell...my other pump. The one I need to take first..forced myself up, got to it, grabbed it up putting it in my pocket, came back to the sofa...and passed out. 

It's the weirdest feeling to wake up two hour later from a phone call. Weird, because you can't remember what happened after you came back to the sofa, sure that you'd die if you didn't take your pumps.. but you never had the chance. 
One could say that I dreamed it all. That if it were real, I'd probably be dead. But my pumps were still in my pocket, right where I had left them, after picking up the fallen one.

I thought my fright from this morning, and my realization that I was scared of dying would at the very least rid me of the thoughts of death.. but there I was, a few hours later, thinking how maybe I'd be better off dead.