I needed to know what time it was.
The room was brightly lit and it hurt my eyes, so I closed them back. I felt a sharp chill from the cold breeze coming in through the window across the bed, I forgot to close it.
It all started coming back to me. I've been in this bed for the past two days, I vaguely recall getting up and closing the window after throwing out the rest of my Xanax bars.
Have I been dreaming? Or did someone come here while I was passed out?
I needed to know how long it had been since the last dose. It was happening again, I could feel the pain in my chest, the palpitation. The pain was the only confirmation that I was still alive-- because there is no pain in death, at least I hoped there wasn't. I tried taking deep breaths but I couldn't. Someone was choking me, I couldn't breathe. I desperately tried to open my eyes, it hurt so bad. It took awhile for my eyes to adjust to the light, I was alone in the room. Upon realizing that, I breathed in a chest full of air. I kept breathing in and out until I realized I was hyperventilating. I reached out for the watch on the bedside table; my hands were trembling. It was half-past two in the morning. My head felt heavy with pain as I tried getting up from the bed. I must have at least a single pill somewhere, I had to find it. I started looking, just one would do, for now. I was sweating like a pig by then, my pulse racing as I teared down the entire room.
Just one pill.
It wasn't always like this. I had a perfect life, a great job, a happy family and we were awaiting the greatest joy of our life-- I was expecting. The labor started a week before the due date. We rushed to the hospital. The pain was paralyzing but I kept praying; praying for my baby.
It was as if my heart had stopped beating, my baby wasn't breathing. They let me hold him close to me; I screamed when they took him away. The umbilical cord was too tight around his neck. I gave birth to a stillborn.
I couldn't sleep at night, I heard the cries of a baby, perhaps my baby. It kept getting worse, I started hearing him all the time. They began to sedate me, I would wake up screaming every time. I began to push everyone away from me, my only solace were sedatives.
Poison is a woman's weapon-- at least that's what they say.
I wanted to put an end to it but I was too coward to bleed, too scared to hang myself, so I chose the slow death.
What do you do when the antidote to the poison is the poison itself?
I wanted death, but I ached to live a day longer.
I was going nuts when I finally found it.
A full pill bottle that I kept for emergency and I realized what I really wanted.