https://caspercollege.cvlcollections.org/files/original/b98a2af813f5dc9e5223f99c916bc29d.pdf 204c2d600857ee642c4d20678aa3f93d PDF Text Text Methodfa'i E^iasit're Jamie L. Smith Non-Fiction I fell In love once between midnight kisses and sunrise sex. I told him my secrets. I had been molested as a child and raped at twenty. He carved “damaged” into my skin. On a beautiful spring day, six months pregnant with our son he told me dating a woman with children is the lowest thing a man could do. He carved "unwanted” into my skin. While holding our threemonth-old son he told me I was just some bitch that had his baby. He carved “unloved" into my skin. I found a way to make those words disappear, to erase them from my skin. I found a method for erasure, and it was the high I would chase for fifteen years. I found that glorious feeling when I was treated for migraines. It was right before America found it had an opioid epidemic. I could get a ready supply. I started out with migraines, real ones, not the psychosomatic migraines I would later use to get pain meds. Hydrocodone was the most preferred. It was the best at achieving the disappearing effect I wanted. It was the only thing that erased the words carved into my skin. My method was simple. I wouldn't eat anything all day. It's best to take drugs on an empty stomach for maximum effect. I would take three hydrocodone pills when I got home. I didn’t add any other drugs until after I felt it take hold. It was like a shot of whiskey hitting my stomach and the heat radiating throughout the body. The erasure started in the abdomen; it didn’t radiate heat, but the empty darkness grew. The words would disappear from my skin, and I could hide for a short time in that void. When the erasure took hold, it was glorious. Mom found me, she always found me. My face ashen with labored breathing and heavy-lidded eyes. I looked half dead as she tried to get me up to walk around. Her voice told me this time was different. “Jamie, you need to get up, ok? You need to walk around, drink some water— Jamie, you need to get up. JAMIE! Please get up. JAMIE? JAMIE? Wake up honey, get up. You've got to get up.” Mom called 911 after my dad came home. This time nothing she usually did to help me in these situations was working. I stumbled and fell, and I couldn’t walk with or without her help. She asked the EMTs not to run the sirens. She didn’t want a spectacle and didn’t want to explain the situation to the neighbors: her daughter overdosed like a junky on a heroin binge. “Jamie stand up. The ambulance is coming. Come on Jamie!” 6^tk CdLtunilUx.'uibi'ic XXXVII �M£thadfd'i S'tasn'iC The Narcan came first, a drug given to overdose patients particuiarly when narcotics are invoived. Mom sat on a stool beside my bed. She patted my arm periodically to let me know she was there. In some ways it reassured her that her baby would be ok. I had an oxygen mask on and was lying quite still. The ER doctor worked quietly giving the nurses directions. They poked and prodded with IVs, needles collecting blood, wires connecting machines that didn’t make sense to me. Mom was talking to the doctor and I could hear Darth Vadar standing vigil, breathing.. . waiting. .. breathing.. . waiting... I lay motionless, gray with labored breathing, on the gurney as the doctor checked me for my vital signs Mom patted my arm again to let me know she was there. She patted my arm to reassure herself that I was still there. The doctor came back and felt my neck around my esophagus. He wrote some information on my chart and said to Mom, “I normally can’t tell you all of these things, but I just felt her to see if there was a reflex. Normally when someone is still with us, they have a small response when you touch them there.” "She had been doing so well with her sobriety. 1 don’t understand,” Mom didn’t know that I had gotten a shot and hydrocodone pills. The doctor, quiet and grave, "No, no she hasn’t. Her levels show five different medications at higher doses than prescribed.” "Oh.” He gave mom a fast tap on the shoulder, swallowed, and nodded. It was all he could do. “Will she be ok.. . when she wakes up?” “We will have to see when she wakes up. But for now she is showing signs of improvement and we’re going to be sending her to the ICU.” I don’t know how long I was in the hospital, days didn’t mean anything, everyday and everyone bled into the other until I had recovered enough to be discharged. I had only a t-shirt when I came into the ER and had thrown up on it some time in the ICU. I had no clothing to go home in. The discharge nurse had provided me with a two sizes too small t-shirt and billowing MC Hammer sweatpants. To add to the indignity, I had no bra or underwear. I had to wear hospital socks home because I had no shoes. I had no one to pick me up. I couldn’t get in touch with my mother. Apologies didn’t mean anything coming from me. Mom had stopped listening to them years ago. Promises meant nothing as well. Mom wasn’t going to forgive me this time. After fifteen years, two rehab stints, two overdoses, and one near-death experience, the sincerity of my repentance XXXVIII Expression Magazine �Methodfox E'lasu'ie obtusely ignored. I didn’t mean any of it then, but this time, this time was different. The hospital provided me with a cab voucher, I sat in a lone brown pleather chair in front of the entrance to the hospital. Little old ladies shuffled past me not meeting my eyes. Other people came and went with quick smiles and eyes darting to other places besides me. I didn’t know what I looked like. I had taken a shower after throwing up, but I didn’t know which day that had been. I had all of my hospital swag in a clear plastic trash bag. I tried to make myself small so no one would see me or recognize me. I wanted to disappear again. Erase everything. 1 took the remaining three pills when I got home before I changed my shirt. 64th CditianUte'iatM.'ie XXXIX � Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Print Magazine Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Method for Erasure Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <div class="element-text"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <div class="element-text five columns omega"> <p><a href="http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/">http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/InC/1.0/</a></p> </div> </div> </div> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns offset-by-two"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns offset-by-two"> <div id="dublin-core-rights" class="element"> <div class="element-text five columns offset-by-two"> <p><em>Expression</em><span>&nbsp;</span>claims first North American rights to submissions selected for publication. All rights revert back to the author/artist after publication.</p> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> </div> Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 2024 Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Jamie L. Smith Language A language of the resource ENG Is Part Of A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included. Expression Literary and Arts Magazine, CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01_Exp_2024_Prose_03 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource Searchable PDF Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Casper College