Bangers and Mash

One: There's a cloud inside my head

Quick reminder to please read the first two parts for context.

The song above is one of my favourites at the moment: give it a listen?

[...]

Lucas' PoV

[...]

Ding

I jolt awake, heartbeat accelerating and eyes searching around the dimly lit room for some sort of danger.

My head pounds, eyes squinting as I fumble around for my glasses in the drawer beside my bed. The sudden movement winds my lungs as I erupt into a fit of coughs.

My hands shake as I place them on my head and reach for the glowing phone on my wrinkled bedcovers. My heart aches as soon as I see the name blaring in my notifications.

[Lucas darling, you really
need to talk to me. I
know you're upset but
you need to take your
medication and look
after your mentality.
I don't think that
you're capable enough
to be living alone at the
moment. Please take my
offer and come back
home. Dad misses you, no
matter what he says. He
just thinks that it's time
to grow up.

Love mum xx ]

I reread the painful message more times than I can count, yet there's no anger to be felt. I know that she loves me, but I can't take it anymore. I can't take living with her for one more second- suppressing all of my thoughts and emotions; morphing into the child that she dreamt I would be.

Yet still, despite the protest that builds up deep inside, I find myself doing what she wants- what I've been trained to do since I was young.

I grab the box of pills, my hands shaking slightly as I lift it, and take one into my palm- swallowing it down dry.

My convulsing throat cries out in distress, trying to reject the intrusive object; finally calming as it recognises it's familiar shape. The pain feels... good, at least- it's an easy emotion to grasp on to, to try and stay sane.

I hate these cloudy thoughts, these cloudy feelings, these cloudy lies that fill up in my mind. I hate the suppressed screams and shouts that stay locked up inside my head, battering my brain instead of my fists. There may not be blood on the ground, or blood on my hands- but the blood inside is choking me, begging to punch; begging to fight.

My entire life is controlled by drugs. That's what they are, at the end of the day. Small pills that can quench my anger yet also squeeze my mind dry from happiness.

I'm addicted. It's an addiction that has no pay-off, no relaxation, no cure. I'm stuck with an addiction passed on by my parents; I'm stuck with this addiction because they couldn't cope.

I can't stop taking them. I've tried- so many times- but I just lose control of myself. I suppose, if we were living in a world full of fantasy- where I could be invincible- these pills would be my kryptonite.

I start shaking, my body can't survive without the numbness they provide, getting withdrawals and I hate it.

I hate what I've become.

One day I hope to break through this forced state of calm, this placebo of peace. One day, I will stop taking them and I will find a way to succeed- to fight. (Yet everyday I'm fighting and the pills still win. What will it take to defeat them?)