[ WP ] On the day of their death , every human gets to have a vision of meeting the man they could have become .

I did n't mean to take so many pills that I died. 
 
 Really, it was n't even half the bottle. Just enough to make the pain stop and the thoughts go away. It's codeine, not heroin. I did n't want to die, but here I was, lying on the floor of my apartment on a desolate Tuesday night. My husband was off on business again. I knew that's all they were, business trips. Nothing scandalous. Nothing like I was trying to do. 
 
 My would-have-been lover broke up with me tonight, via a text message of all things. I knew from the very start it was wrong to feel for him what I did, especially when my husband had always been so supportive of me, of my depression and manic episodes and irrational behavior. I really did love my husband. He would give me the moon if he could. But he could n't. And that's why I also loved another. I could n't help it. 
 
 He had asked me to come and elope with him for the 50th time in a week. I had told him no, we have to wait. What we were waiting for I do n't know. I could n't ever bring myself to make a decision. Whether I chose to stay with my husband or leave with my lover, I would break someone's heart. And also my own. It sucks loving two people at once. He had texted me at 11:13 AM to say he was done waiting. It was over. I had sunk to my knees and howled like an animal. I had reached for a knife and lacerated my thighs. I had reached for the pills. And now here I am, almost dead. 
 
 As I stared into the ceiling light, glaring, blurring, shifting, I noticed someone in the corner of my vision. *Wonderful, the hallucinations are starting*, I thought. *I really am going to die alone in this damned apartment. * Alone among all the furniture and clothes my husband bought for me over the years. He would come home and find his beloved wife dead. He'd probably never get over it, the poor sod. He did n't deserve this. 
 
 The figure moved closer. She looked to be in her fifties. She had matted, dirty, thinning hair about 3 inches long, cropped shorter in some places. Her face was covered in scabs, and her limbs misshapen with the remnants of hundreds of deep gashes, those marks with which I could empathize too well. She walked with her feet turned inwards, limping painfully towards me. She was emaciated. and gaunt and her eyes were glazed over. I spoke weakly. This was the end. 
 
 `` Are you death?'' The woman shook her head, her face remaining emotionless. 
 
 `` No, sweetheart, I ai n't.'' Her voice had a distinct redneck-ish sort of twang, and was gravelly with what must have been decades of smoking. Her affect was completely flat, like someone had ironed out her soul. 
 
 `` But I wish I was dead. Wish I was you.'' 
 
 I could n't believe my fucking ears. Even drugged out of my mind I had enough energy left in me to be angry. 
 
 `` I'm sorry, what? Lady, I do n't know your story, but you should n't ask to be me. You do n't know what I've been through.'' 
 
 Her washed-up, wrinkled old face *almost* curved into a smile, but in a flash it was gone again. 
 
 `` Yes, I do. I know exactly who you is. and I'm here ter warn you about going to see Andrew today.'' 
 
 Andrew. Andrew?! The man who just broke up with me! Realization flooded my body and soul and somehow I could just *sense* that this woman was a part of me. Maybe she was a messenger from heaven. Or from hell. 
 
 She reached into her pocket and retrieved a lighter and a cigarette. She took a long drag, choking as she exhaled. As she struggled to catch her breath, she answered the questions forming in my mind. 
 
 `` No, honey pie, I'm YOU.'' 
 
 My eyes went wide with shock. How in the world could this poor haggard creature be ME? She certainly was n't half as well-spoken or well-looked-after as I was. She continued. 
 
 `` I went to see Andrew, finally. I went to go live with him.'' 
 
 I did n't understand. Where was the diamond ring Andy had promised us? Where were the fancy clothes and the car and the whole taking-care-of-us-forever of which he so ardently spoke? 
 
 `` Did he break up with us?'' 
 
 The other me sighed, but her face betrayed no emotion. `` No. he never left me, ever. When I got there he forced me into his car, he drugged me, and then he raped me, and he sold me to men. I got addicted to the heroin he gave me. I could n't leave. I been raped thousands of times, I been shot, I been beaten, I been choked...'' she trailed off. 
 
 We stared at each other for a long and empty moment. She continued when I would n't. `` This is my life. I'm just another junkie, just another whore. I was supposed to come here to warn you. You still have a husband who loves you. You still have medicine for your bipolar. You still have a fucking *bed*!'' At last her tough exterior broke and she began to openly sob and wail, making no effort to hide it in front of me. 
 
 `` We both had it all!'' she groaned. `` And now we do n't, neither of us do n't have nothin'.'' she sunk to the floor in tears beside me. A woman more miserable than I slumped beside me on a desolate Wednesday morning, my only companion in death. A few silent tears rolled out of my own eyes as I drew my last breath. Maybe the next life would be better for both of us.
