your city gave me asthma. | stories based on Wilbur Soot's album

saline solution

‼️TW: hypochondria, puking/throwing up, cancer, terminal illness, mentions of death‼️

I think I'm dying. I really think this is the end.

I held the pot against my face as I started to puke, feeling my muscles start to weaken and, somehow, get more tired than I was before.

I pulled up my blankets and started to sniffle, thinking about every bad possible thing that could be happening to me.

I could have a terminal illness--cancer?! DO I HAVE FUCKING CANCER?! this is how it happens, right? I'm done. this is it.

barely finding the strength to get out of bed, I ran for my bathroom cabinet and snatched the bottle of Panadol.

gulping each pill down, I felt fucking insane. will I really go out like this? is this it? what the fuck is happening to me??

people say I'm a hypochondriac. which turned out to be true. but even knowing that, I still feel like I'm going to rot out and die in this cheap old fucking apartment.

I feel like I'm going to throw up my fucking guts.

I hope that after this I can wake up and feel better. I hate this feeling more than I hate my alarm clock.

I think I'm overreacting, surely? but what's the answer to feeling like this? this can't be normal.

im just playing victim. people have it so much worse. this is nothing.

I just wish there was a cure. I find myself avoiding my friends plans just because I think I'm going to die from something as little as a cold.

no. I'm probably just dying.