The Earth Begins to Sway || Falsettos

Insomnia Medication

((TW: suicide)) 

My father used to say that love is the most beautiful thing in the world. I'd like to believe that he was right. 

It doesn't matter now. Things are shitty, more than that. Too much to describe. And the silence isn't calming, but pounding, as I sit on the floor of my dark bathroom. Shakily, I trace a finger over the label of my insomnia medication. The drugs helped me sleep for a while. That was... helpful. 

But anyway, I know that things will all be better soon. I'm not sure why I kept the light off. It's night, and I don't want to wake anyone. Plus, I don't want to see myself. 

I wrote a note to my parents. It's in my room. It discusses their future a little. Something about how I know they'll miss me and I'm sorry. It must say "I'm sorry" at least half a dozen times in that letter. I'll miss them, too. But it's only a moment. A moment until things can feel alright. 

I'm still shaking. Crying, even. I think about how at this time of year (it's practically summer), the weather used to be brightening, contagious. These days, there's an eternal weight that will never go away. 

I slowly unscrew the bottle cap. I've done this a million times before. It's just that, this time, I'm taking a little more, to be able to sleep a little longer. 

Every time a doubt creeps in, I remind myself that things will never be the way they were supposed to again. I remind myself that anyone who describes their life as "hell", is only denying their lack of a will to live. That I don't really want to live. 

Everything will be better, I tell myself. You'll be at peace. I choke back tears. You'll be where you wanted to go. 

Still, the thought is dark. Even if things will really be all right once I do this. You know what? I'll finally be there. I shouldn't doubt it for a second. And this is an easy way to go. The last thing I'll ever be proud of myself for. 

I've broken down in tears by now, no matter how quickly I wanted this to be over. I want to go through with this. I miss my father. 

But I can't. I'm just terrified. 

Maybe help exists for this, too. As little as I want to stay here, I try to catch my breath and tell myself that things will get better in life. There are solutions. Better solutions. 

Breathing shakily, I screw the cap back onto the bottle. Not today. Not today for the drugs. 

As expected, things aren't suddenly okay. A little worse, especially when the realization of what I was about to do sinks in. I decide it's time to talk about it. 

So I walk, still trying to breathe, to Mom and Mendel's room. I live with a fucking psychiatrist. It was time to talk about it a long time ago. 

I open the door, which creaks. "Mendel?" 

A voice comes. "Jason?" 

"Mom?" 

She meets me outside the door, still in the dark. "What's going on, honey?" 

I'm still breathing a little too much to answer her. I think she knows something is wrong. "Mom, I... I need to show you something." 

I lead her to my room, hand gripped tight around the bottle. Somebody take it away from me. I set it on my dresser, where the letter rests as well. I pick it up and hand it to her. 

"I made a mistake earlier tonight," I whisper shakily as she unfolds it. "I wrote this for you and Mendel, but... I want you to know I didn't mean anything in it." 

I watch her read with horror. She's started crying. "Jason... how long have you been feeling like this?" 

"Well, I've had the thoughts floating around for a long time," I admit, "but I only really made the decision tonight." 

"Do you know why?"  

"The letter explains it." My hand is over my mouth, probably to stifle any more crying. 

"Jason..." 

"I just wanted to talk to you about it instead," I interrupt. 

She stands up from my bed, pulling me into a hug. But a sad one. "I'm so glad you did." 

"Me, too," I can't help sobbing. I've tried to let go of my negative feelings attached to crying, especially on nights like this, specifically tonight, when I can't control myself. 

There's help. I'm getting help. I was saved.