I have pills. They're sucky pills. There are the small round blue ones, for anxiety. Then there is the oval shaped yellow pills, with fake smiling faces, for my depression. But, you can't take both, nor either one.
Anxiety pills help anxiety, but make me even more depressed. I don't have anxiety attacks, I can stutter less in public, and I can breath. I can breath and be a rest. But it makes me sad, suicidal really, and I'm already depressed.
Then there is the happy pills. The ones that lift my spirit for a short while, brings some light into the darkness. I don't have a strong need to self harm, I'll eat a little more, and I don't attempt to kill myself off. But, the anxiety makes it worse, takes my breath, and adds tears to my lungs. I'm lonely.
Pills. So many, yet I could only take one choice.
You know, how about I do something better. I make a choice of irony, I down the bottle of happy pills and die. No depression. No anxiety. Just...death.
YOU ARE READING
Ugly
Short StoryStories and notes about how it feels to hate yourself. Depression is real. Sometimes its not easy to move on with a real smile and laugh. You believed her when she said she was tired, but she was cutting her wrist. When she said she was fine, but cr...
