Prologue

“You’re a worthless child. Why can’t you be more like your sister?” Mama didn’t miss a step as she left out of the front door. She left me alone, sitting on the bed in the one-bedroom apartment we shared with her friend, Adriane. She finally did it—sucker punched me in my gut so hard that my hopes and dreams died.

As I sat on the edge of the bed with my face in my hands, I made up my mind. “Today is the day I die.” With my last bit of strength, I thrust myself off the bed, weeping and screaming. As I barreled into the bathroom, I looked in the mirror at my worthlessness and pleaded with my image.

“I hate you, Mama! Why can’t you love me? Why can’t I be anything but worthless and alone? I’m somebody too! Why can’t you see that?” My tears transitioned between anger and pain. With nothing but my reflection in front of me, I screamed “I hate you!” and clawed at my face, creating 10 red scratches from my temple to my cheeks.

Even though my wounds burned and bled, I couldn’t stop clawing and digging into my face. I wanted the pain to stop, but it cut so deep that I couldn’t escape it. I knew what I had to do.

I swung open the medicine cabinet, looking for something to put me out of my misery. I threw anything that seemed useless to the floor.

Vitamins…no.

Cold medicine…There’s not enough.

Hydro-co-done…

I read the directions that were intended for Mama’s friend, Adriane. “Take one pill as needed for pain.”

This takes away pain. This will do. Finally, there would be a release from all the heartache and disappointment I had experienced over the last two years.

I held the bottle in my hand and shook it to make sure there was enough to complete my plan. Before opening the lid that contained my freedom, I said a prayer out loud.

“Dear God, please forgive me. Watch over Mama and Sissy. Make sure they have a better life when I am gone. Amen.”

Without hesitation, I tilted my head back, emptied the bottle, and washed my sorrows down with a handful of water from the bathroom sink.

I was scared and anxious about the feeling of death, but instead of sticking my finger down my throat, I forced myself to accept the inevitable. Afterwards, I balled up on the white and green linoleum floor, hoping to be unconscious soon. As I faded away, I could hear chaos from what felt like very far away.

“Oh, my God! Nikki, what have you done?!?” I heard running, then someone frantically pleading. “Nine-one-one, hurry! Something is wrong with my friend’s daughter!”

With great force, Adriane grabbed my arms and dragged me out of the bathroom and onto the carpet between the bathroom and bedroom. She screamed and wept. “Nikki, please get up! What did you take?”

I wanted to respond, but I couldn’t. All I could do was roll side-to-side and hold my stomach, praying the cramps I felt would soon stop. I moaned and cried. Then, everything went black.

I was awakened by a stinging sensation in my nose and a choking feeling in my throat that eventually caused me to gag. I was overwhelmed by the scent of anesthetics and the sound of someone screaming in a room nearby. I tried to move my hands and feet, but they were strapped to the hospital bed with white restraints. I tried to yell, but couldn’t. A young-looking white doctor with green scrubs peered down at me and introduced himself. “Nikki, my name is Dr. Henderson. You’re in the Cedar Sinai emergency department.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “You had an incident, but we’re going to take good care of you.”

Cedar Sinai? What am I doing here? Reality set in. I’m still alive? Tears filled my face and escaped down the sides of my cheeks. I kicked my legs and moaned relentlessly, but I continued to be held tight by the white straps that secured my hands and feet.

“Calm down, Nikki. We’re almost done.” Dr. Henderson said firmly.

As I struggled, I could see everything I ate that day being sucked from my stomach through a long tube. Next, they pumped my stomach full of thick black goo that tasted like charcoal.

Everything and every person in the room moved like a whirlwind. Zipping in and out of the room, yelling orders. “Nurse, what are her stats?” the doctor asked.

“Blood pressure is 130/88, heart rate is 105.”

“Nikki, I know this is uncomfortable, but I need you to relax as much as possible,” a nurse suggested softly.

They wanted to rid me of my pain. But I didn’t want them to—I wanted to keep the feeling of dysfunction that Mama left as she uttered those vile words and closed the door behind her. I also desired the inescapable feelings of worthlessness that haunted me.

Eventually, the torment of being robbed of my freedom caused me to fade into the darkness. When I came to, I was greeted by the same white restraints and an astute, grey-haired Hispanic woman with a clipboard in her hand.

“Am I in hell?” I asked the grey-haired lady. She chuckled and replied, “No, dear. You’re still at Cedar Sinai Hospital, in the ICU.”

Livid, I began to cry and silently express my disappointment to the Creator. I felt cheated and betrayed by God. How could you do this to me? I can’t go home with Mama! You must hate me, too!

“Hi, Nikki. My name is Elma. I’m the hospital social worker. I know you’re upset and drowsy from the medication that Dr. Henderson gave you, but I need to ask you a few questions. Okay?”

I was overwhelmed with frustration, but I looked at her and nodded my head to show cooperation.

“Have you had thoughts in the past about harming yourself?”

“No.”

“What made you attempt to kill yourself?”

I paused. Why am I still here? Oh, my God, did they call Mama? I have to get out of here before she gets here. I finally spoke up. “I don’t know.”

“Is there anything going on at home that we should know about?”

All I could hear was Mama saying, “Don’t tell anybody my business.”

So, I lied. “No.”

Truth was, I thought about killing myself thousands of times—I hated my life. Another fact was, if I had a chance, I would make sure no one could save me the next time.

“Nikki, I’m having a hard time believing you, so I’m going to recommend that you spend some time in an inpatient facility for young people who are struggling with the same issues you are.”

“Why? I’m not crazy!”

“I understand that sweetheart, but I want to make sure you’ll stay safe.”

“No! Let me out of here!” I struggled, kicking my legs and screaming at the top of my lungs. “I want to go home! Please don’t send me there!” Tears streamed down my face and soaked the pillow under my head. I was helpless; the straps were too strong and I was too weak to fight any longer.

The mature-looking woman put her hand on my arm and rubbed it gently. “I promise, sweetheart, they’ll take good care of you.”

“Okay,” my hoarse voice agreed. Something in Elma’s touch felt safe and sincere; I trusted her. Besides, it had been a long time since another person treated me with love, respect and graciousness. More importantly, it had been a long time since someone treated me as if I was somebody. Fifteen seemed so young to try to end my life. However, the two-year journey that led me to my decision had reached its peak. Something had to go—even if it was me.