Pills

Woke up and felt quiet. Numb. Totally closed down. What’s the point in getting up and

(You’re just gonna die)

why bother going to school. So you can pass your exams and get a job and

(Here, take your pills)

slog away at that for most of your life

(Have you taken your pills?)

and then die. Yippee.

(Are you up for school today?)

I think I’ll just go back to sleep

(I hope I don’t wake up)

(Have you taken your pills this morning?)

(Do you feel up for school today?)

Went to school today. Haven’t been there for weeks. Feel asleep in Science

(Maybe you should change your sleeping patterns)

Burst into tears in Art

(What’s wrong, what’s wrong, is something the matter?)

(No she’s crying because she’s overjoyed)

(Oh, what’s the matter, can I help, what’s the matter?)

(Oh fuck it, what’s the point?)

(What’s the matter?)

(Stop fussing, stop crowding, you don’t care, you know you don’t, you don’t even know me, you’re just a sadist, you like being around other people’s pain and saying what’s the matter and are you alright and can I help because it makes you feel like you’re being kind and thoughtful even though you know it’s all fake and so so so insincere and stop crowding me I can’t breathe, and I don’t have my pills, and you’ve left me no room and stop it, stop it, stop it and FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!)

(I was only trying to be nice)

(She’s such a bitch)

(Oh fuck it, I’m going home, I want my pills)

Went home early and watch trashy daytime TV and cried myself hoarse. Didn’t know why I was crying.

God I hate school. God I hate everything.

I hate it all, and that’s good, because it’s not a nice feeling, but hatred is something, and it’s better than the void I’ve been living in for the last few days and where’s the remote and where are my pills

(Goddammit, fucking anti-depressants, where did I put them)

School phoned them and someone came home early

(Mum or Dad, can’t remember, doesn’t matter, it’s all the same in the end)

and asked how I was

(How are you, sweetie, did something happen, or did it all just get too much?)

Shrugged. Didn’t take eyes off the TV. They asked some more questions. Ignored them. They got me a chocolate bar. We watched a cookery programme together.

Other one came back. Attempted to be delicate. Asked same questions as the other one. Ignored them.

Parents exchanged meaningful looks. One dropped hints about going back to the doctor

(He’ll increase my prescription)

The other agreed. They asked me how I felt about going back to see the doctor

(Wright or Lewis, I can’t remember)

I switched to Buffy.

Sister called. She asked me how school is going. I told her it was fine

Woke up at two o’clock in the morning. Had a bad dream. I mean it that way round. My dreams are only bad when I’m awake.

Couldn’t get back to sleep.

(Those scissors look really friendly)

Took another pill. Threw scissors in the bin.

(Do you feel up to school today?)

Took pill. My bladder’s full and my throat’s dry. My stomach’s growling. Considered going to the loo, getting a drink, getting some food.

Parent had to rush to work.

(I’ve left you pasta in the fridge, you just need to warm it up. And I’ve left a you a cup of water on the kitchen work surface, so you can go get that once you’ve gotten up. I’ve got an important meeting, see you this evening, bye darling)

Bladder is reaching bursting point. Throat feels like a desert and stomach is shrinking to the size of a walnut.

Rolled over. Went back to sleep.

Woke up mid-afternoon. House empty. Can’t be bothered to get up.

(Where’re my pills)

My pills aren’t near me. Clever bitch. She’s left them in the kitchen with the water so I’ll have to get up, hasn’t she.

Rolled out of bed. Attempted to stand. Legs refused to cooperate. Crawled to the kitchen. Pulled self onto knees by clutching onto the work surface. Dry-swallowed a pill. Knocked water over. Liquid spills over floor. Can’t be bothered to mop it up.

Can’t be asked to get up. Lie on wet floor and go to sleep.

Someone’s carried me to my bed and changed me out of wet clothes and into dry ones.

(Time to get up, you’ve been asleep all day)

(It’s one of your friends’ on the phone, do you want to talk to her?)

(No)

(But you haven’t spoken to her for two weeks)

Take phone. Throw it at the wall. Go back to sleep.

(Goddammit, where are my pills)

Wake up. Get half way to school. Stop. Turn around. Get a quarter of the way back home. Stop. Turn around again. Take two steps towards school. Stop. Take one step towards home. Stop.

Sit on pavement. Scratch at wrists. Can’t feel anything. Hit bag. Don’t know why. Felt like the right thing to do.

(Shit, didn’t bring my pills with me)

Try sitting perfectly still in the hope that it’ll make me disappear.

Get fed up after an hour and a half of that. Rummage through bag for ten minutes in the hope that my pills somehow made their way in there and I just missed them. No luck. Sit still for another hour. People keep walking straight pass me. No one stops.

Chuck sociology textbook into the road. Get up and retrieve it. Don’t bother to check traffic. Go back onto pavement. Dig holes in my books with a pen.

Sit for another half hour.

Call Dad and tell him to pick me up.

Go home. Pills are sitting innocently on the work surface. Take one. Take another when Dad is not looking. Promise not to take one in the morning to make up for it.

Take one in the morning anyway.

Wake up. Feel numb. Totally shut down.

(Déjà vu)

Wonder what the point is in getting up and

(You’re just gonna die)

(I’m sure I’ve done this before)

why bother going to school. So you can pass your exams and get a job and

(Here, take your pills)

(I’ve really done this bit before)

slog away at that for most of your life

(Have you taken your pills?)

(I know I’ve done this before. Oh, who cares, it’s all so repetitive and monotonous anyway)

and then die. Yippee.

(How do you feel about school today?)

(Where’re my pills?)

I think I’ll just go back to sleep

(I hope I don’t wake up)

Fuck it, I want my pills.

A/N: Not sure how I feel about posting something this personal. Please don’t flame it. Usually, I don’t care about flames, but as I said, this is extremely personal. Also, before you complain, I know I mixed up tenses a bit. This is on purpose. It’s not just me using bad grammar.