“Please, Mom, don’t do this.”
As each morbid idea surfaces, Misha’s voice gets louder and louder. It comforts me which is why I race into the en suite and open my vanity mirror cabinet above the sink. Small orange bottles litter the shelves and I frantically turn the labels around so I can read what each one is.
My doctor prescribed me anti-depression pills because lately, things have been getting too much. And everything has been cloudy. He also thought some sleeping pills would help. And now seems like the perfect time to catch up on sleep…only to never rise.
“Mom! No! There’s no going back.”
“That’s the point. I don’t want to go back,” I say into thin air, replying to the voice which isn’t there.
“You don’t want to do this.”
But I ignore Misha because he isn’t here. He never will
