The Longer I Run

Phan/Danisnotonfire drabble.

It's not a sharp, sudden sensation. You don't see a sudden flash of light, or get a hand delivered letter. It just sneaks up in you until one day you wake up and realize you're too depressed to get out of bed. It's a nagging feeling in the back of your skull, reminding you constantly how inferior you are. It weighs on you until you start thinking things you never thought you would. Thing like 'I want to die'. Naturally it startles you when your brain comes to this conclusion. You cringe from the idea, you're not that person. You not depressed, you just have bad days... Every day.

I was laying on my side, trying to ignore the intense burning radiating down my side. I pushed my face further into my pillow, breathing in the scentless air. I wondered if my bedding had a distinct scent that I couldn't smell. I wondered if it smelled half as good as Phil's did. Phil. I sighed and burrowed further into my cocoon, although there really wasn't much more room to inhabit.
It was Saturday night. I should be out, living my life to fullest. Instead I was wallowing alone in my bedroom. Phil was out, like he should be. He didn't say where he was going, he just said an awkward goodbye and shuffled out. I couldn't shake the feeling that he had been avoiding me lately. Can you really blame him?
I sat up abruptly and reached for my laptop. I turned on some music and laid back into my pillows. The song was angsty and repetitive, definitely not the thing to listen when you're already close to the edge. I muted the laptop quickly, allowing the silence to resettle around my ears.
I rolled over to my bedside table and pulled open the small drawer inside. I pulled out the three pill bottles I kept inside and placed them on the wooden table. Two were the translucent orange of prescription bottles; the other was just a bottle of aspirin. I picked up one the orange bottles and held it between my thumb and forefinger.

"Sertraline HCL 75 milligrams," I read the label aloud. The antidepressants were small, blue and oval shaped. I marveled at hour one little pill was supposed to affect my life so greatly.

I twisted off the child proof lid and studied the bottles contents. There was about thirty pills inside. If I swallowed them all right now I would probably die. I could probably get the whole thing down in one gulp.

I shook my head at my musings and took the correct dosage. The pills weren't really working anymore. Nights like this were happening more frequently. Nights where I couldn't do anything but lay here and stare at my ceiling, thinking of all the horrible things I have ever done.

A single tear slipped down my cheek, caused more by confused anger than sadness. The empty feeling in my chest wasn't subsiding. What if I felt like this forever? Logic told me that I would probably wake up tomorrow and feel perfectly fine, but I couldn't shake the 'I'm-completely-alone-and-I-want-to-die' thoughts. I pushed the pill bottles out of sight. It hit me all at once that I wasn't craving the pain if a blade, or the numbness of pills. All I wanted was someone to hold me. I just needed something warm and sturdy to lean on until I got a bit better. I just needed Phil.