Nearly two weeks ago, I nearly died. I have been homeless for over 6 months, and I'm barely coping with the end of a trauma- Bond relationship. I have been questioning my future, and seeing no light at the end of my tunnel for quite some time. After having stayed up a couple days on stimulants, having been unbearably depressed, and I had received yet another rejection from my unrequited love object, I was given a large amount of opiates; visibly, far more than my tolerance. I honestly can't remember if it was on purpose or not, but I just snorted the whole thing, and in hindsight I remember thinking oh my, that was a bit too much. 5 minutes later, it took effect and I was out.

I remember waking up on a hospital gurney, nurses and one cop all looking at me. I was, frankly, rather pissed to have woken up. I was told that I had not been breathing for nearly an hour, and it had taken a whopping of 17 of Narcan to revive me. This is an astronomical amount of the lifesaving drug, more than anyone had ever heard of being administered. But, nonetheless, my life had been saved and I was still on this planet. I went through a period of numbness, followed by some sort of epiphany, and flow-state of energies.

I had thought, "maybe there's a reason that I meant to be kept alive." Well, apparently there was.. well, maybe. I had learned that a fellow homeless man, also a long-term close friend of mine, had a painful infection. He is an IV drug user, and due to sensitive skin, had sores on his arms and legs. Apparently, has a left leg had gotten severely infected. Fate had it that I ran into him, while driving a friend's van. I told him please let me take you to the Urgent Care Clinic. Reluctantly, he went, and they told him to go directly to the ER, and that his leg may have to be amputated! So I insisted that we go half an hour south to a far better Hospital than the crap one in our city. The owner of the van was reluctant, but I insisted. He's been there for about 6 days now, and they're still pumping him with antibiotics. I was told today that he had gotten a Nasty form of encephalitis, and That I had saved his life.

By all means, I should not have survived that overdose. It's quite an anomaly. Is it possible that this is the universe at work, and that I was not meant to pass on yet, because I had a duty to selflessly save someone else's life? Either way, it's an emotional thing to hear, especially after devaluating my own life so much. I'm very glad he's alive...I have left the city, and when he is healthy enough to be discharged, is joining me for a new start in a much better area.