Title: These Pills I take 1/1
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not mine. Not mine...(even though the voices in my head tell me that they should be. ( )
Note: Gracias Nikki for inspiring me to write this. Song is..... Numb, by Linkin Park
I'm tired of being what you want me to be
Feeling so faithless lost under the surface
Don't know what you're expecting of me
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
Every step I take is another mistake to you
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
I can bring this bottle up to my lips, but no matter how many times I try to drink from it, it will always be empty. Like the others scattered on the floor, the table, like my body, like my heart and soul. My mind is buzzed; my body is relaxed, limp, barely functional. I can only imagine the effort it will take to move my feet, to make my legs carry me into the other room to gather up another bottle of booze. The cheap kind though, I ran out of everything that was expensive about an hour ago. But I kept on drinking, not like most nights.
Normally I would come home from work, have a few beers if I hadn't joined everyone at Haggerty's. Have a few hard drinks if I had joined them at the bar. Either way, I would come home and drink, drown in my sorrows, looking into the bottom of an empty bottle, my only friend. And after that, me and my depression medication would have an appointment, and take a long nap afterwards, until it was time to go to work again. On Thursday's though, I go to the psychiatrists, she makes me talk; I say everything she wants to hear. Everything but the truth, everything but how I'm really feeling. That's how it always is, how it always was.
No one notices, no one even seems to care. At work it's all fun and games, serious 'business' and doing the job. Once shift is over, going to Haggerty's after a long hard day, it's to let off steam. To me, letting off steam would be to down myself and owe the bar three thousand dollars in expensive hard liquors. Drinking a few beers, talking bull about my life, about my 'scores', seems to make everyone think I'm okay. It's how I'm supposed to be....If they only knew.
Only tonight, I over did it. I ordered a few shots, four, five more coming after my few beers. The guys were starting to wonder; asking me what was going on. My answer that I just felt like getting hammered didn't do it for them. Sasha was all concerned, sitting next to me on one side, Doherty on the other. She was trying to ask me what was wrong, I just kept drinking. Ty was in a booth with Sully, Taylor, and Kim. I'm pretty sure DK was somewhere near by with Carlos and Doc, all talking about girls. I didn't want to talk about girls, or 'conquests'. I wanted to get drunk, fast, hard, forever.
I remember that morning I'd fallen to my knees, crying over something. I don't know why, all of the pent up tears just fell, making me fall harder than before. I had seen the glistening metal on the counter, used to open a package the day before. I don't know if I meant to, but I did. I picked it up; I let its cool blade rest against my warm skin. I let myself drag it across, cut me open, let my blood pour freely out.
Thinking about it, it makes me wonder what type of man I've become. Am I worse than my father? Not hurting others, but myself. Which is worse: Beating your family, or yourself?
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
I've become so tired so much more aware
I've becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you
He's on me now, Doherty. Asking me why I'm drinking so much, probably having a silent conversation with Sasha about what they should do. I can't stand their hounding, and I glare at Doherty, knowing I would feel too much guilt the next day if I blew up at Sasha. I tell him to leave me alone, that he doesn't care about me, that no one does. I ask him why they won't just leave me alone, why they all think I want them to care. But the truth is, that is all I want. I want someone to hold me, hold me tight and tell me that everything is going to be okay. I want them to pry the liquor from my hands, kiss my wounds, make things better.
He's taken back by my questions, and I get up off the bar stool, digging around for money in my pocket, dropping some twenties on the bar. I turn to leave, but he grabs my arm, swinging me around. Pulling away, I know before I can stop it, that my sleeve has been pulled up, that the angry red lines etched into my skin have been shown to him. I see his face fall, the shock apparent in his eyes. I don't need to look behind me to know that Sasha is clueless. Doherty dropped my arm as soon as he saw, and behind me, she's asking what the hell is going on. I pull my arm back, pulling my sleeve down. I don't look at him again before I walk out. I don't have to, I already know what he thinks, what he's going to do. He'll do what he thinks is right, what anyone would do, what he thinks is best for me.
My head hurts, the pounding echoing like it would in a deep hollow stairwell. Blood pumps warmly throughout my veins, each throb heard in my ears, the pain felt rhythmically in my head. Dropping the empty bottle, letting my grip loosen on it, I hear it smash to the ground, falling on the wooden floor. The pressure wasn't enough to shatter it, but I hear it rolling away. I look down, watching the hazy glass bottle roll, coming to a stop when it hits the lamp base.
It's like a movie being played in slow mo when I get up. It's harder than I thought it would be, to move. My feet hit the ground heavily, the smacking on the wooden floor filling my ears like nails on a chalkboard would. I feel myself shiver as I get up, managing to barely stand while I sway on my feet. Gaining my balance, I stay still for a moment, letting the moment pass. My mind whirls, and everything seems hazy like the bottle did a few seconds ago. The feeling passes, like it always does. I feel it every night, and I'm still not use to it yet.
Taking small steps, it takes what seems like a lifetime for me to get down the hall, and into the bathroom. I reach for the cabinet, and open it, finding myself face to face with my demons.
Can't you see that you're smothering me
Holding too tightly afraid to lose control
Cause everything that you thought I would be
Has fallen apart right in front of you
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
Every step that I take is another mistake to you
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
And every second I waste is more than I can take
Three rows of pills, prescription, lay in wait. Twelve bottles, four on each row, the ones on the top row are full, at least thirty pills in each bottle. The ones on the bottom are the ones that The Good Doctor prescribed to me not so long ago, told me they would help me sleep, they would keep away the nightmares. Nothing can keep the nightmares away, but they can hold them off until I'm brought back to life. I take those normally, letting them hold my life back, letting them make me seem normal.
I pull the first bottle on the top shelf out, and twist off the cap. White, powdery, circular pills about the size of Advil stare back at me. My hands aren't shaking, and I wish they would. It would mean that I was scared, that I was hesitant. That I wasn't going to do it.
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
I've become so tired so much more aware
I've becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you
The phone rings in the distance, two rooms over to be exact. I can barely hear it. I can barely hear the ring, after ring, after ring, of the shrilling noise, which only minutes ago would have made my blood run cold. Has it really come to this?
And I know
I may end up failing too
But I know
You were just like me with someone disappointed in you
Turning on the faucet, I grab one of the paper cups I keep on the side of the sink. I fill one up, leaving the faucet running. The water doesn't drain right, and the sink fills up a little as I let the water run. I wonder if I were to leave it, if it would overflow, fall to the floor, sink through the floor, drip into the apartment down below. Is that how they would find me? Why they would? Because I left the sink on?
Holding the container of pills in my left hand, I bring it to my lips, pouring the pills into my mouth. The taste is bitter, powder, worse than cough medicine, worse than piss warm beer.
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
I've become so tired so much more aware
I've becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you
The phone rings again, startling me this time, pulling me to life. I spit the pills out, some scattering across the sink top, some falling onto the floor. Others go into the sink, clogging the drain, the water backing up even more. I flick off the faucet, setting the Dixie cup down on the sink. Walking into the hallway, time passing by quicker than it did on my way there, I make my way into the kitchen, and pick up the phone. I don't even say anything, I just pick it up.
I don't receive a hello, a how are you. I receive a voice, worried, saying my name, acting like they want to know if it's me. Who else would it be? My insides are hollow, I am hollow, my soul, heart, body, but I am still me. This fake façade I made up for myself is still me.
I realize a moment later it's Doherty. He asks why I didn't pick up before. I tell him I was taking a piss, and silence follows. He asks me how I am, to which I don't respond. I wouldn't tell a trained professional how I really am right now, why should I tell him. He takes my silence as a bad sign I note, and he continues to talk. Telling me that he told Sasha what he saw, that they sat down and talked, that they haven't told anyone else yet. They think I should get help, talk to someone. I tell him I'm already doing that, mandatory, that I already have help. He says that maybe it's not enough; maybe I need something more than that. I tell him I'm fine, that what he saw didn't happen recently, it happened ages ago. By his sigh, I know he knows I'm lying. He dealt with Kim, he knew what he saw on my arms was fresh.
I tell him that I have to go, that I'm tired, that I really over did it with the drinks. He doesn't believe me, but there is no way for him to prove that I'm lying to him. He wants to know if I want him or Sasha to come over, just to talk. I say no, but now the other line is beeping, probably my Ma, and I have to go. He tells me not to do anything stupid. I hang up before he can say anything more.
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
Is everything what you want me to be
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
Is everything what you want me to be
Staring at myself again in the bathroom mirror is like starring at a stranger. I do not recognize this person in front of me any longer. My skin is white, dark circles are under my eyes. I look like bone and flesh. No wonder they were so worried about me, I look like death. Like a disease.
Reaching my hand up, I grab the next bottle off the top shelf, and twist the cap off. No more thinking about it, no more distractions. This is it. I look at the Dixie cup full of water, and bring the bottle of pills up to my lips. I let some fall in, and pick up the Dixie cup in my other hand. Dropping the rest of the pills into my mouth, my eyes catch the number count. Sixty. Sixty pills that I was supposed to take twice daily, once every twelve hours. Causes drowsiness, loss of appetite, taking too many can cause an ulcer in my stomach, killing me.
Bringing the Dixie cup up to my lips, I swallow.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not mine. Not mine...(even though the voices in my head tell me that they should be. ( )
Note: Gracias Nikki for inspiring me to write this. Song is..... Numb, by Linkin Park
I'm tired of being what you want me to be
Feeling so faithless lost under the surface
Don't know what you're expecting of me
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
Every step I take is another mistake to you
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
I can bring this bottle up to my lips, but no matter how many times I try to drink from it, it will always be empty. Like the others scattered on the floor, the table, like my body, like my heart and soul. My mind is buzzed; my body is relaxed, limp, barely functional. I can only imagine the effort it will take to move my feet, to make my legs carry me into the other room to gather up another bottle of booze. The cheap kind though, I ran out of everything that was expensive about an hour ago. But I kept on drinking, not like most nights.
Normally I would come home from work, have a few beers if I hadn't joined everyone at Haggerty's. Have a few hard drinks if I had joined them at the bar. Either way, I would come home and drink, drown in my sorrows, looking into the bottom of an empty bottle, my only friend. And after that, me and my depression medication would have an appointment, and take a long nap afterwards, until it was time to go to work again. On Thursday's though, I go to the psychiatrists, she makes me talk; I say everything she wants to hear. Everything but the truth, everything but how I'm really feeling. That's how it always is, how it always was.
No one notices, no one even seems to care. At work it's all fun and games, serious 'business' and doing the job. Once shift is over, going to Haggerty's after a long hard day, it's to let off steam. To me, letting off steam would be to down myself and owe the bar three thousand dollars in expensive hard liquors. Drinking a few beers, talking bull about my life, about my 'scores', seems to make everyone think I'm okay. It's how I'm supposed to be....If they only knew.
Only tonight, I over did it. I ordered a few shots, four, five more coming after my few beers. The guys were starting to wonder; asking me what was going on. My answer that I just felt like getting hammered didn't do it for them. Sasha was all concerned, sitting next to me on one side, Doherty on the other. She was trying to ask me what was wrong, I just kept drinking. Ty was in a booth with Sully, Taylor, and Kim. I'm pretty sure DK was somewhere near by with Carlos and Doc, all talking about girls. I didn't want to talk about girls, or 'conquests'. I wanted to get drunk, fast, hard, forever.
I remember that morning I'd fallen to my knees, crying over something. I don't know why, all of the pent up tears just fell, making me fall harder than before. I had seen the glistening metal on the counter, used to open a package the day before. I don't know if I meant to, but I did. I picked it up; I let its cool blade rest against my warm skin. I let myself drag it across, cut me open, let my blood pour freely out.
Thinking about it, it makes me wonder what type of man I've become. Am I worse than my father? Not hurting others, but myself. Which is worse: Beating your family, or yourself?
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
I've become so tired so much more aware
I've becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you
He's on me now, Doherty. Asking me why I'm drinking so much, probably having a silent conversation with Sasha about what they should do. I can't stand their hounding, and I glare at Doherty, knowing I would feel too much guilt the next day if I blew up at Sasha. I tell him to leave me alone, that he doesn't care about me, that no one does. I ask him why they won't just leave me alone, why they all think I want them to care. But the truth is, that is all I want. I want someone to hold me, hold me tight and tell me that everything is going to be okay. I want them to pry the liquor from my hands, kiss my wounds, make things better.
He's taken back by my questions, and I get up off the bar stool, digging around for money in my pocket, dropping some twenties on the bar. I turn to leave, but he grabs my arm, swinging me around. Pulling away, I know before I can stop it, that my sleeve has been pulled up, that the angry red lines etched into my skin have been shown to him. I see his face fall, the shock apparent in his eyes. I don't need to look behind me to know that Sasha is clueless. Doherty dropped my arm as soon as he saw, and behind me, she's asking what the hell is going on. I pull my arm back, pulling my sleeve down. I don't look at him again before I walk out. I don't have to, I already know what he thinks, what he's going to do. He'll do what he thinks is right, what anyone would do, what he thinks is best for me.
My head hurts, the pounding echoing like it would in a deep hollow stairwell. Blood pumps warmly throughout my veins, each throb heard in my ears, the pain felt rhythmically in my head. Dropping the empty bottle, letting my grip loosen on it, I hear it smash to the ground, falling on the wooden floor. The pressure wasn't enough to shatter it, but I hear it rolling away. I look down, watching the hazy glass bottle roll, coming to a stop when it hits the lamp base.
It's like a movie being played in slow mo when I get up. It's harder than I thought it would be, to move. My feet hit the ground heavily, the smacking on the wooden floor filling my ears like nails on a chalkboard would. I feel myself shiver as I get up, managing to barely stand while I sway on my feet. Gaining my balance, I stay still for a moment, letting the moment pass. My mind whirls, and everything seems hazy like the bottle did a few seconds ago. The feeling passes, like it always does. I feel it every night, and I'm still not use to it yet.
Taking small steps, it takes what seems like a lifetime for me to get down the hall, and into the bathroom. I reach for the cabinet, and open it, finding myself face to face with my demons.
Can't you see that you're smothering me
Holding too tightly afraid to lose control
Cause everything that you thought I would be
Has fallen apart right in front of you
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
Every step that I take is another mistake to you
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
And every second I waste is more than I can take
Three rows of pills, prescription, lay in wait. Twelve bottles, four on each row, the ones on the top row are full, at least thirty pills in each bottle. The ones on the bottom are the ones that The Good Doctor prescribed to me not so long ago, told me they would help me sleep, they would keep away the nightmares. Nothing can keep the nightmares away, but they can hold them off until I'm brought back to life. I take those normally, letting them hold my life back, letting them make me seem normal.
I pull the first bottle on the top shelf out, and twist off the cap. White, powdery, circular pills about the size of Advil stare back at me. My hands aren't shaking, and I wish they would. It would mean that I was scared, that I was hesitant. That I wasn't going to do it.
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
I've become so tired so much more aware
I've becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you
The phone rings in the distance, two rooms over to be exact. I can barely hear it. I can barely hear the ring, after ring, after ring, of the shrilling noise, which only minutes ago would have made my blood run cold. Has it really come to this?
And I know
I may end up failing too
But I know
You were just like me with someone disappointed in you
Turning on the faucet, I grab one of the paper cups I keep on the side of the sink. I fill one up, leaving the faucet running. The water doesn't drain right, and the sink fills up a little as I let the water run. I wonder if I were to leave it, if it would overflow, fall to the floor, sink through the floor, drip into the apartment down below. Is that how they would find me? Why they would? Because I left the sink on?
Holding the container of pills in my left hand, I bring it to my lips, pouring the pills into my mouth. The taste is bitter, powder, worse than cough medicine, worse than piss warm beer.
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
I've become so tired so much more aware
I've becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you
The phone rings again, startling me this time, pulling me to life. I spit the pills out, some scattering across the sink top, some falling onto the floor. Others go into the sink, clogging the drain, the water backing up even more. I flick off the faucet, setting the Dixie cup down on the sink. Walking into the hallway, time passing by quicker than it did on my way there, I make my way into the kitchen, and pick up the phone. I don't even say anything, I just pick it up.
I don't receive a hello, a how are you. I receive a voice, worried, saying my name, acting like they want to know if it's me. Who else would it be? My insides are hollow, I am hollow, my soul, heart, body, but I am still me. This fake façade I made up for myself is still me.
I realize a moment later it's Doherty. He asks why I didn't pick up before. I tell him I was taking a piss, and silence follows. He asks me how I am, to which I don't respond. I wouldn't tell a trained professional how I really am right now, why should I tell him. He takes my silence as a bad sign I note, and he continues to talk. Telling me that he told Sasha what he saw, that they sat down and talked, that they haven't told anyone else yet. They think I should get help, talk to someone. I tell him I'm already doing that, mandatory, that I already have help. He says that maybe it's not enough; maybe I need something more than that. I tell him I'm fine, that what he saw didn't happen recently, it happened ages ago. By his sigh, I know he knows I'm lying. He dealt with Kim, he knew what he saw on my arms was fresh.
I tell him that I have to go, that I'm tired, that I really over did it with the drinks. He doesn't believe me, but there is no way for him to prove that I'm lying to him. He wants to know if I want him or Sasha to come over, just to talk. I say no, but now the other line is beeping, probably my Ma, and I have to go. He tells me not to do anything stupid. I hang up before he can say anything more.
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
Is everything what you want me to be
I've become so numb I can't feel you there
Is everything what you want me to be
Staring at myself again in the bathroom mirror is like starring at a stranger. I do not recognize this person in front of me any longer. My skin is white, dark circles are under my eyes. I look like bone and flesh. No wonder they were so worried about me, I look like death. Like a disease.
Reaching my hand up, I grab the next bottle off the top shelf, and twist the cap off. No more thinking about it, no more distractions. This is it. I look at the Dixie cup full of water, and bring the bottle of pills up to my lips. I let some fall in, and pick up the Dixie cup in my other hand. Dropping the rest of the pills into my mouth, my eyes catch the number count. Sixty. Sixty pills that I was supposed to take twice daily, once every twelve hours. Causes drowsiness, loss of appetite, taking too many can cause an ulcer in my stomach, killing me.
Bringing the Dixie cup up to my lips, I swallow.