Higher.

What happens now?

I get a voicemail from Red eight months after the fact and I have to wonder what spurred it. She said she had just talked to Amanda and had heard about everything from her. I think Amanda was afraid of getting in some type of trouble, that's why they carried me away from the tree and that's why she never came back to the hospital after my initial drop-off. I'm, if I'm being honest, kind of angry with both of them. Red had to have heard about what happened when it did. And Amanda, well, she wasn't all that forthcoming about details when I inquired. Everyone's so afraid of getting in trouble and it all really doesn't matter anymore.

But, let's talk about what's really been on my mind since Friday. Fuck, probably longer than that now. See, I've been having this recurring thought of permanent ineptitude. Case in point: couldn't remember how to spell "ineptitude."  I keep thinking about all the planning my frontal lobe isn't doing and all of the violent misfires going in in the parts of my brain that make me feel. And, yeah, they give me antidepressants for the symptoms, but they aren't too concerned about the faulty structures. Just treat the symptoms so she plays nice and feels good. But, the thing is, I haven't felt good for awhile now.

I keep wanting to drink because that's what used to make me feel good and it just doesn't anymore. So, I sneak away to the Purple Church and drink too many Sculpins. I can't walk right, but I tell myself it wouldn't matter anyway, it isn't the beer it's my brain.

I'd love to jot down notes in my notebook again, but I can't write like I used to. I can barely even hold a pen and it hasn't improved much despite the stupid cursive worksheets I've done. Close an eye and make sure the marks fall between both lines. Carry a glass of water a few feet and wonder how much you've lost from sloshing.

See, the thing is, I've thought about a few different ways of taking a permanent break. An extended hiatus. Finish the good Lord's work. He put these trees and nature hear for you and me.

I don't believe in God, but I know train conductors get paid to pass by at designated times. I know they probably get mandated time off and counseling when a workplace accident occurs.

I think about those Norcos my mom hid from me and know they won't do any good anyway because they didn't before. Just barfed all night and missed rehab the next day.

You see, I'm done. There's nothing more for me to do. I'll never be able to walk well enough to go climbing off into the wilderness like I thought I would before. My speech is still jilted, slurred, and difficult to get out. No self-respecting company will want me to answer their phones or speak with their clients.

I would like to write, but making a living solely on that is a fool's errand.

And I'm tired. I've been tired for awhile. It's hard for me to care about other people's problems and I can't tell if it's because of what has happened to my brain or it's just me.

So I think about the way that would cause the least chaos. Would be easy to clean up. I wish the tree had been taller or if I had just climbed higher.