Smoking myself in gray matter

So here I am, smoking one of Daddy's cigarettes alone in Mum's house. Mum and Dad got divorced a year ago. I look at the window, and the weather seems so foggy today, that it makes me feel confused, like if I couldn't think clearly.

I'm thinking and thinking, so anxious. My little big friend, tedium, is coming to my mind, my house, again. So, I smoke, to escape this hell, this gray reality, my gray matter that makes me think that I don't belong here, that I'm not being myself. I smoke. I really don't know what else to do. I don't want to think, I don't want to feel this way anymore. I'm so useless, I can't even help myself.

I can't find the point of living when I can't live being totally myself. Should I consider drinking alcohol so I could forget this depressive thought? No, it's dirty, and it's not beautiful like Daddy's gray cigarettes. I go to the kitchen. I will drink water today (I will drink it until I drown). I like water, because it's pure, and it makes me feel clean and empty.

I miss my Dad so much. My Mother is taking a lot of time to come back from the pharmacy. She went outside because she needs more antidepressants, someone (me) made them "disappear". I stole the gray things that my parents "used up", things that can kill me, but makes me feel alive.

I go to the bathroom, I want to see it so I can say the last goodbye face to face to it. I close the door, and start looking at the mirror. I hate my body so much. I don't feel myself. My soul feels damaged, sad, my soul isn't in it's body. I was born in a wrong body. I tell the mirror that the one who it shows isn't me, but it doesn't listen to me (it never did). I must go somewhere else. So, I throw Daddy's cigarettes away. It's slow effect tired me, I need something quicker. I took all of Mum's antidepressants, with the glass of water's help, I eat them all (just like my Father did some time ago).

I start noticing a knocking at the bathroom's door. "What have you done?" she says. "Wake up, please! I can't lose you, either".

But it's too late, I'm flying outside the window. I look at the sky, and there are lots of clouds, with sad people inside, looking at me, welcoming my gray heart. They don't talk to each other. They never do. There is just silence. We are just thinking and waiting. There is another door here, but it's bigger than the bathroom's door, and it feels it will be eternally closed for us.

Sometimes I hope the door opens, so I could hear a voice trying to wake me up, trying to save me.

Sometimes I cry, thinking: what would have happened, if those pills were actually hormones?