anxious and alone |dnf|

just this once

TW: drugs, anxiety (violent nightmare)

Dreams POV:

It's been a few days since I discovered that anxiety drugs actually help with my depression. I finally decided that I'm going to take a shower today, but I've still been procrastinating. You'll feel clean. 

"What are you doing right now?" George texted. "About to take a shower," I responded, and he answers quickly. "That's good. I'm very proud of you." My heart soared and I felt my cheeks heat up slightly. 

George had been checking up on me every few hours to make sure I wasn't spiraling. He really wanted to make sure I only took the amount of medicine I truly needed. 

I place my phone back onto my bed and stand up, walking over to my closet and grabbing some fresh clothes. I then go to the bathroom and pick a towel, placing it on the counter. I turn the water on and adjust it to the right temperature. I take off my clothes and step into the semi-warm water. 

It has been really hot recently and I needed to cool down. I run my fingers through my hair and feel the water run down my back. My legs began to shake a little, the response to standing for too long when all I'd been doing lately is laying down. I quickly wash my hair and body and leave the shower. 

I walk into my room after getting dressed and drying off my hair. The number of clothes on the floor made me cringe, and the room smelt stale. I want to clean up. As soon as I thought about cleaning and moving things around my head started to hurt and my legs began to shake even more. Maybe a little bit for today. I kick my clothes all into a big pile and find my laundry basket, bending down and lifting the pile into the basket. I go into the living room and get a candle to light up the room, hopefully making it smell fresh.

It's 2:12 am, the candle being my only light source besides the dim light trying to peek in behind my curtains. George had gone out to make a video with Wilbur and Tommy. That made me jealous. Knowing that George was with his friends, having fun, while I am here trying not to have a panic attack. I'm isolated in Florida. Nobody is here, but then again it's not like I want anyone seeing this mess, my mess.

I closed my eyes and saw nothing, helping me to fall asleep quicker. But when I fell asleep I was trapped. I was in an entirely white room with no windows or doors. The floor was grass and there was one small flower in the middle of the room. I walked and sat down in front of it, picking it from the ground. It looked like it had 100 petals. I picked one. 

A loud voice echoed in the room, "He loves you." It startled me, but I picked another. "He loves you not." 

It sounded like George's voice, but it was hard to tell. I continued to pick the petal as the voice played on repeat. Until I picked a different colored petal. All of a sudden the room turned dark red and the voice sounded more muffled, now saying "He hates you." My heart started beating quicker than I have ever felt before and I could hear it. 

"He hates you not."

"He hates you." 

"He hates you not."

"He hates you." that was the last petal. Does he hate me? "Yes," George said. His voice sounded crackly and loud like he was speaking into a microphone. I turn around and see him standing in the corner, holding something behind his back. "What's that?" I ask. He walks closer while leaning over to me, revealing the bat in his hand. 

I fell back, even more, trying to scooch backward away from him. "Please... GEORGE NO PLEA-" I cried before George swung. 

I shoot up in my bed, covered in sweat from the extra heat that the candle produces. I feel my body to see if it's real and not a dream. My head ached and my chest was heaving, trying to search for air. I couldn't breathe. Help. 

"Hi!" George texted. I looked over at my phone but still lacked the air needed in my body, I open my mouth and take in as much air as I can and close it, now breathing. My chest has sharp pains and my throat was scratchy. Not again.

I reach over the side table, where my pills are, contemplating whether or not to take another one. You've already had one today, George said no more than one. You're fine. My painful chest begged to differ. It would only be one more. Just this once. I told myself. 

I took another one of the small pills and held it in my hand, once more rethinking my decision. Here goes nothing. I swallow it and reply to George. "Hey!"

"Have you taken any Ativan today?" he asks. 

"Nope!" what he doesn't know won't hurt him. I couldn't breathe, so it's fine, and it's only 2. 

"Good to hear, I'm proud of you Clay!"