"There's barely enough time to love in a lifetime, please don't give it all away to pain," his words were gentle, yet slightly pleading as his hand trailed down my cheek.
"But what if the pain has already consumed me?"
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𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 & 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬
NOVA
After a while, Taehyung left, and I found myself reflecting on our conversation. It felt strangely comforting to talk with someone who truly understood me. For the past four years, I had been pretending everything was fine, putting on a brave face for those around me. But Taehyung knew the truth—he had lived through it with me. It was nice, knowing I wasn't alone but on the other hand, I couldn't ignore that it had stirred something within me, something I no longer had the strength to suppress.
He didn't know the whole story and for that I was glad. My story was no fairy tale, if anything it was a tragedy.
I wished what he told me was enough, but it wasn't. A person finds their limit and I had found mine. I knew what I was about to do was wrong and maybe even selfish, but life had brought me to this.
I just hope he'll know this wasn't his fault.
As I sat on the bathroom floor, I wondered how I had reached this point. Perhaps it was the relentless abuse—it had all started there. But over time, it became such a routine part of my life that I began to question whether I had truly suffered. Maybe it was the guilt over what I did that New Year's Eve, or the survivor's guilt that followed. Or perhaps it was being committed to a mental institution at the very moment I felt the most sane.
So many things.
Smiling weakly, I grasped the bottle of pills prescribed by Dr. Maskell. I hadn't taken them before—never felt the need—but somehow, they had become the most precious thing I owned. It was in that moment I realized just how deep my depression truly ran, how it had never really left, no matter how hard I tried to bury it. Who would want to live in such a cruel world? A world that weighed me down, never giving me a chance to come up for air. Depression has a ground—let's call it rock bottom. For a long time, I had used it as a launchpad to push myself up and keep going. But what happens when you run out of the energy to propel yourself?
That's why I found myself sitting on the cold, tiled floor of my bathroom. There was nothing pulling me out of bed anymore; each time I woke up, I was confronted with the emptiness of my life. I had postponed this moment for so long because that's how it goes, you focus on what you'd be leaving behind and convince yourself to keep going for those things, not for yourself. But that's not really living. I once saw death as an eternal oblivion, something to fear. But now, it felt welcoming, peaceful—everything my life was not. I longed to be with my family, to find peace, and this seemed like the only way.
"One, two, three, four, five, six..." I counted as the pills tumbled into my palm. I wasn't sure how many I would need, half the bottle didn't seem like enough, so I kept pouring.
One by one, I placed the pills on the back of my tongue, jerking my head back to swallow them. The process was dry and uncomfortable, and it struck me as oddly ironic that the medication meant to help me was now the means to end my life.
