“Just take the pills,” I told myself, blaring rock music and sitting at the table.
I knew what would happen. I’d take the pills, throw up for a few hours, and then pass out into eternal oblivion, and it would all be over.
Just take them.
Take them!
But part of me was still afraid. So I took two of my anti-anxiety pills and waited, pacing the room and smoking.
Half an hour later, I sat back down again. Opened the first bottle, the one with the rest of the anxiety pills, and held them in my hand.
This one would be easy.
I put the whole handful in my mouth, opened that big-ass bottle of water, and washed them down.
There.
Once I had begun, I couldn’t stop. One bottle, two, three, four…six in all, almost full bottles each one, boom.
Dump handful.
Swallow.
Dump.
Swallow.
Go.
Go.
