D A M A G E D • HS

24

TW: themes of suicide,
themes of overdose,
themes of child abuse,
mentions of drugs

ARLO P.O.V

Pills

A substance that is usually small and easy to swallow. Often prescribed to help with a specific problem such as pain, digestion, depression, anxiety, sleep, and many other things.

If taken in a large enough quantity, pills, instead of helping like they are intended to do, can kill.

I stare at the orange container holding at least thirty pills, sitting on my desk with a storm of thoughts swirling through my head.

It would be so easy to just pop the cap off the bottle, pour all of them out in my hand, and take them in hopes that once and for all, I will die.

I'm so fucking tired and miserble. It would be so easy to pump my system full of whatever the fuck is in the bottle, and wait for it to slowly kill me from an overdose.

It might be a painful way to go out, but at least I'll be dead. That way no one can control me, no one can tell me what to do, no one can force me into dangerous shit like doing a drug deal.

I sit in a black knit sweater that I tucked into a bralette to give the front a cropped look, while the back hangs low, a simple pair of light wash mom jeans, and long white socks.

My knees are tucked tight to my chest as I stare blankly at the bottle of pills, not moving once. I've been in the position for the last hour debating if I should take them or not.

I'm sick of living, I'm sick of agony, I'm sick of the world, and I'm sick of fighting alone. I'm not strong, it's impossible for me to be, when my whole life I've been beaten down to a pulp.

Why do I keep going? There is nothing holding me back from living. Why do I let myself endure this torture? For the false hope that just maybe life gets better? If I've been shown anything, it's that my life will never get better. I will always be drowning in the raging sea of pain.

I chew on my bottom lip contemplating dying. To most this is probably a terrible thing to focus on, but for me I need it. I'm desperate for a distraction, because if I don't have a distraction, I will spiral.

Today is the day I've been dreading since my father called me on the phone. Today I will be going to some undisclosed location, to meet with some mystery person, to pay them money, to get some kind of product for my father.

I couldn't sleep last night, and haven't been for the past week. After Harry left my house, I locked myself in my room, away from my mother, and didn't leave until Monday morning. I didn't eat, I didn't drink water, I didn't do anything besides hold myself in bed as I let the voices kill me from inside out.

Slowly, I've been destroying my body this past week. I noticed when I looked into the mirror today, that I looked skinnier, which I know isn't good being the fact that I'm already really thin as is. Now I just look sickly.

I haven't touched any drugs in the past week as well, which is very concerning for me. I didn't have the motivation to move to get them, or even set them up to take.

I've, for the past seven days, have been wallowing in my bed, doing nothing. The only time I would get up, is when I needed to desperately use the bathroom.

I didn't get up for food, water, to change, anything. It took a lot of my energy just to get
up and take a shower, but after the fifth day of
laying in the same place, I knew that I needed to try and take care of myself again.