Swallow and Repeat
1/1
This was it. This was the end. He couldn’t fight his addiction any longer. It was tearing him apart from the inside out. He drowned in his tears every night; he was sick – so sick of trying to beat this over and over. He couldn’t even bare to look at himself in the mirror anymore, for he was so disgusted with the unrecognizable person inside it.
He couldn’t go on any longer living like this: he was going to put himself out of his misery. He opened the bottle of burdens. These pills had him by the throat, choking him slowly until his lungs gave out. In a way he was defeating the pills. He was getting rid of them in a very permanent way. He’d never have to look at, touch, or taste them again.
He started to swallow them down, one by one they traveled down his throat and into his stomach. He could feel his heart ache. In a way, he didn’t want to end it, but he felt as if he didn’t have a choice. He was doing this for the people that wanted him to get help. Well, he sure was getting some type of help.
The last pill he swallowed caused him to start gagging. He forced it down and shook his head violently. He had to do this. All there was to do now was await death. His last minutes were going to be spent saying goodbye to his cat, Luna. He walked out of the bathroom, went down the hall, and found her lying against the wall.
“Hey, Luna,” he said, calmly taking a seat beside her. The cat stared at him curiously as he began to stoke her fur. “I’m gonna miss you.” Luna purred and he managed to actually smile.
He continued to pet her for the next few minutes. He had to wipe his eyes often, as they were still soppy and wet. Just seeing his cat brought back many memories when his family wasn’t so broken. When he smiled so much and laughed. Saying farewell was making him even sadder than he was to be leaving, but making him happy.
“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” he spoke to his cat softly, unaware of what he had just said.
Maybe, just maybe, something deep inside of him wanted to keep living. What a crazy thought. He had planned this out for months, why would he be changing his mind now? No, he was sure he wanted to die. He wanted to die and… never see anyone of anything again. Never see his cat again. Never taste, feel, touch, breathe, nor hear anything ever again.
If he killed himself… he’d be dead. He would have given in to everything. He would have given up. All he’d be doing is proving his parents right about what a failure he is. That’s not what he wanted. He wanted to prove them wrong.
He didn’t want to die. Not right now, at least. He stood up and ran to the bathroom. He had to make himself throw up the pills. He had to live. How could he have been so quick to try and end it all? Of course, he had been thinking of this for weeks… but why, why now, did he have to realize it was never what he wanted?
He ran his fingers through his thick and dark hair, working up the nerve. If he made himself throw up, surely all the pills would be out of his system. He just had to stick a toothbrush down his throat. The mere thought of that made him shudder. He grabbed his lime-green toothbrush off his counter and walked over to the toilet.
Leaning over the toilet made him feel sick. His heart was racing, cheeks red, his dull grey eyes wide and fearful. Just stick it down your throat already. Come on. It was all so sickening, but he knew this was a better solution than death.
“Come on, just do it,” he hissed, forcing his toothbrush to the back of his throat. He vomited, but not as much as he had expected. “Damn it!” He forced the toothbrush down back and forth. He produced trickles, until there was hardly anything left. His story was coming to its final lines.
The boy wiped his mouth and stood up, unable to throw up anymore. He hadn’t thrown up any visible pills. Everything was slipping from his grasp. He knew in a matter of moments, it would all be stolen from him. Every single memory would be gone and others incomplete. He had realized it all when it was too late.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he choked out his final words in tears.
The toothbrush fell to the floor with him.
He couldn’t go on any longer living like this: he was going to put himself out of his misery. He opened the bottle of burdens. These pills had him by the throat, choking him slowly until his lungs gave out. In a way he was defeating the pills. He was getting rid of them in a very permanent way. He’d never have to look at, touch, or taste them again.
He started to swallow them down, one by one they traveled down his throat and into his stomach. He could feel his heart ache. In a way, he didn’t want to end it, but he felt as if he didn’t have a choice. He was doing this for the people that wanted him to get help. Well, he sure was getting some type of help.
The last pill he swallowed caused him to start gagging. He forced it down and shook his head violently. He had to do this. All there was to do now was await death. His last minutes were going to be spent saying goodbye to his cat, Luna. He walked out of the bathroom, went down the hall, and found her lying against the wall.
“Hey, Luna,” he said, calmly taking a seat beside her. The cat stared at him curiously as he began to stoke her fur. “I’m gonna miss you.” Luna purred and he managed to actually smile.
He continued to pet her for the next few minutes. He had to wipe his eyes often, as they were still soppy and wet. Just seeing his cat brought back many memories when his family wasn’t so broken. When he smiled so much and laughed. Saying farewell was making him even sadder than he was to be leaving, but making him happy.
“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” he spoke to his cat softly, unaware of what he had just said.
Maybe, just maybe, something deep inside of him wanted to keep living. What a crazy thought. He had planned this out for months, why would he be changing his mind now? No, he was sure he wanted to die. He wanted to die and… never see anyone of anything again. Never see his cat again. Never taste, feel, touch, breathe, nor hear anything ever again.
If he killed himself… he’d be dead. He would have given in to everything. He would have given up. All he’d be doing is proving his parents right about what a failure he is. That’s not what he wanted. He wanted to prove them wrong.
He didn’t want to die. Not right now, at least. He stood up and ran to the bathroom. He had to make himself throw up the pills. He had to live. How could he have been so quick to try and end it all? Of course, he had been thinking of this for weeks… but why, why now, did he have to realize it was never what he wanted?
He ran his fingers through his thick and dark hair, working up the nerve. If he made himself throw up, surely all the pills would be out of his system. He just had to stick a toothbrush down his throat. The mere thought of that made him shudder. He grabbed his lime-green toothbrush off his counter and walked over to the toilet.
Leaning over the toilet made him feel sick. His heart was racing, cheeks red, his dull grey eyes wide and fearful. Just stick it down your throat already. Come on. It was all so sickening, but he knew this was a better solution than death.
“Come on, just do it,” he hissed, forcing his toothbrush to the back of his throat. He vomited, but not as much as he had expected. “Damn it!” He forced the toothbrush down back and forth. He produced trickles, until there was hardly anything left. His story was coming to its final lines.
The boy wiped his mouth and stood up, unable to throw up anymore. He hadn’t thrown up any visible pills. Everything was slipping from his grasp. He knew in a matter of moments, it would all be stolen from him. Every single memory would be gone and others incomplete. He had realized it all when it was too late.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he choked out his final words in tears.
The toothbrush fell to the floor with him.