Two or three times, I tried to stop: I carried meth in my pocket all day as if to prove, "This stuff is my bitch," but I always ended up taking it.
On February 4, I finally saw her again. She'd found a rehab facility for me, and I agreed to go the following week. I later learned she had recorded our conversation, during which I said I didn't want to be in the world because it was too evil — the proof she felt she needed to get a court order and commit me.
But the next day, I bought meth from my drug dealer. After a friend tried to stop me, I shot up that night. I took a larger dose than I'd ever used before.
On the morning of Tuesday, February 6, I was still high. I was hallucinating, so my memories are fuzzy, but based on what I remember and details I've pieced together from other witnesses, here's what happened: Thinking the friend I'd gotten high with had gone to church, I wandered there along a railroad track. Even though it was 10:30 in the morning, everything looked dark and gloomy apart from a light post, where I thought a white bird was perched.
It was then I remember thinking that someone had to sacrifice something important to right the world, and that person was me. I thought everything would end abruptly, and everyone would die, if I didn't tear out my eyes immediately. I don't know how I came to that conclusion, but I felt it was, without doubt, the right, rational thing to do immediately.
I got on my hands and knees, pounding the ground and praying, "Why me? Why do I have to do this?" I later realized this wasn't a personal religious calling — it was something anyone on drugs could have experienced.
Next, a man I'd been staying with, who happened to have a Biblical name, drove by and called out the window, "I locked up the house. Do you have the other key?" A sign, I thought, that my sacrifice is the key to saving the world.
So I pushed my thumb, pointer, and middle finger into each eye. I gripped each eyeball, twisted, and pulled until each eye popped out of the socket — it felt like a massive struggle, the hardest thing I ever had to do. Because I could no longer see, I don't know if there was blood. But I know the drugs numbed the pain. I'm pretty sure I would have tried to claw right into my brain if a pastor hadn't heard me screaming, "I want to see the light!" — which I don't recall saying — and restrained me. He later said, when he found me, that I was holding my eyeballs in my hands. I had squished them, although they were somehow still attached to my head.
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