Capricious

Laying here, in bed, I feel as if it’s becoming harder and harder to feel my own body; It grows numb. I know I should get out of bed… rather, I am told I should. I don’t want to. I can’t. MY body, feeling stiffer and stiffer with every passing minute, no, second, I feel as though my body loses any intelligence to motivate myself to move and my body transforming into a stone.

My mind, clouded by this sickness, overtakes me from finding a reason to go on. The voice raging inside my head telling me to sit, that getting up would be pointless. That voice, my voice, was intrusive in nature. I couldn’t stop it. Just as I couldn’t stop the endless onslaught of negative comments I threw at myself.

Darkness, loneliness, apathy was all I could use to describe how I feel. Why worry about getting up and going to school or work when it’s just the same mundane living going nowhere? Not like the boy I love will love me back. Not like I really care to work. Not like any job I can think of makes me happy enough to want to slave away doing it most of my life, for the rest of my life.

I rolled over and looked at the end table beside me. There sat the familiar two pills I would take. White in colour and wrapped with green lining. They were a total of 40 milligrams. I could take them, but I just don’t want too. I always get a gagging feeling when I pop the pills into my mouth, and I had nothing to swallow it down. They were never guaranteed to work, either.

All in all, I would be better just doing nothing. Why bother popping pills for the rest of my miserable life? I should just go to sleep. At least I’m not aware and life feels a little better. The pain in my chest will subside for the time being. It’s only a matter of time before I join the black parade.