“It was like my mouth was full of marbles. “All I could do was make sounds,” she says. Much of the time, she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. She couldn’t swallow or control her bladder, and her hands constantly shook. “That’s just a general term which means the brain’s not operating right,” she says. And, on top of that, I’d brain-damaged myself.” After Debbie emerged from her one-week coma, her doctors gave her their diagnosis: encephalopathy. She’d been found, rushed to hospital, and saved. As she lay down, she felt triumphant.īut then she woke up again. That afternoon, she’d written a note on her computer: “I’ve screwed up this life so bad that there is no place here for me and nothing I can contribute.” Then, in tears, she went upstairs, sat on her bed, swallowed her pills with some cheap Shiraz and put on a Dido CD to listen to as she died. Debbie Hampton, of Greensboro, North Carolina, took an overdose. For years she had tried to be the perfect wife and mother but now, divorced, with two sons, having gone through another break-up and in despair about her future, she felt as if she’d failed at it all, and she was tired of it.
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