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Prologue
Los Angeles, California
1994
One Year Later…
“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 my hopes and dreams died.
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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!”
clawing at my face, creating 10 red scratches from my
temple to my cheeks.
I couldn’t stop clawing and digging into my face,
even though, my wounds burned and bled. I wanted the
pain to stop, but it cut so deep, I couldn’t escape it. I
knew what I had to do.
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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 was 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.
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“Dear GOD,
Please forgive me. Watch over Mama and Sissy.
Make sure they have a better life now that I am gone.
Amen.”
Without hesitation, I tilted my head back, emptied
the bottle, and washed my sorrows down with a hand
full 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 way, I could hear chaos in the back of my ears.
“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!”
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With great force, Adriane grabbed my arms and
dragged me out of the bathroom and unto 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 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 younger
looking white Doctor with green scrubs peered down
at me and introduced himself.
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“Nikki. My name is Dr. Henderson. You are 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 adorned my hands and
feet.
“Calm down, Nikki. We’re almost done.” Dr.
Henderson firmly suggested
As I struggled, I could see everything I ate that
day being sucked from my stomach and through a long
tube.
Next, they pumped my stomach full of thick black
goo that tasted like charcoal.
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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 softly
suggested.
They wanted to rid me of my pain. But, I didn’t
want them to—I wanted to keep the 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 kept me company after.
Eventually, the torment of being robbed of my
liberation caused me to fade into the darkness. When I
came to, I was greeted by the same white restraints and
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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 are still at Cedar
Sinai Hospital in the ICU.”
Livid, I began to cry and silently express my
disappointment with 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 am the hospital
Social Worker. I know you are upset and drowsy from
the mediation the 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?”
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“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 am having a hard time believing you, so
I am going to recommend that you spend some time in
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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 will 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
will 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
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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.