The Day Before I Died

The day before I died was insignificant at best. I woke up like always, checked my phone. Same old texts, answered two, left the rest for later. Lay in bed mentally preparing for the day. Telling myself, "You can do this, you are not your depression and anxiety." A mantra that I'd learn to say but never really felt in my heart. Got up and took a shower, brushed my teeth, repeated the same mantra in the mirror. Sat on my couch scrolling through the newsfeed, saw some of my friends struggling, made sure to tell them I was there for them; saw some of my happy friends, made sure to love it so they knew I was happy for them. Got in my car and repeated my mantra to myself. Went to work, continued the mantra until I gave myself my usual migraine. Came home, showered again, climbed into bed and tried to keep my demons at bay. But like always, somewhere in the twilight of my sleep they began to escape one by one. "You are your anxiety. You are your depression." Popped the magical pill that was supposed to quiet the demons. "You realize that no one really wants you?" Popped another. "You know to quiet me is to quiet yourself, you're gonna need to take more than that." Popped two more. "You know what I mean. Your friends and family think this is just for attention, and maybe they're right. Maybe you just take too little and cry wolf?" I scream in my pillow as to not wake anyone for it to just please stop. "It could stop, if you become brave enough. You're tired, just let go." Hands shaking, mind in a bit of a disarray, I take the rest of the bottle. For a little bit the demons keep talking, then they slow down, relief. What I'm feeling is relief. I don't mind the weight on my chest, crushing my lungs, or the gasping for air. I don't mind the sludge my mind is swimming in. Mentally I hear nothing and that's all I could ask for. This day wasn't my worst, I'd weathered tougher waters than this. After all, this day was insignificant at best.