NSFW:

I was living in West Philadelphia at the time.

I was 21 years old, and I was addicted to heroin and cocaine. On the day of the Chilean Earthquake, Feb 27, 2010, I decided I would take my own life and end it once and for all. I shot up 14 bags of dope and a gram of cocaine into my arm and passed out, but did not die. I woke up in the bathroom tub with 2nd degree burns all over my face (was not sure until later how I got them) and was pissing brown from rhabdomyalsis. I thought this meant my kidneys had shut down, so I took a Spyderco knife and slit my wrists (the long way), legs, feet, and biceps.

Blood was all over the room, walls, etc as I stumbed back and forth between my bathroom and studio main room. Unfortunately, my two cats watched the whole thing (one is still with me.) I bled out for hours but would not die. I got into the tub to speed things along but it ended up looking like a scene from Dexter, but I wouldn't pass out.

I called 911 and I was hardly able to speak. I said something like "dying. help. help. I can't."

The 911 operator must have been confused because they sent the police instead of an ambulance. I distinctly remember when the officer entered the room his first words were "WHAT THE FUCK??" I bled out more and they finally got an ambulance. I remember the feeling of utter powerlessess on the back of the ambulance. This started an 11 year journey of sobriety (still sober today).

Anyway, I think about that cop sometimes, though in writing this, I perhaps see why the operator might not remember this particular call. They never found out any more I would imagine.