Orange bottles, pink pills.
I think my coworkers are starting to realize I'm constantly shivering and sweating like a fucking pig about to get butchered (side-effects of the pills) . I don't care though, I started caring less and less about what people think about me with time. My only concern is them seeing me popping these pills and reporting me or doing some bitch move like that. I hate them, I hate everyone, all them look at me a certain way. I can't even handle nice comments anymore, they make me feel annoyed cause i know they don't really mean whatever compliment they're giving me and it bothers me to think that they feel the need to give me the compliment as if I look desperate for it. I don't want a goddamn compliment, all I need is for everyone to mind their own business and not look, speak or bother with my existence anymore. I just want to live the rest of my life without anyone acknowledging me anymore, and then I'll be at peace finally.
I don't care that my body is literally falling apart due to these pills. I don't care that i can barely hold the keys to unlock my apartment door from shaking so badly. I don't care that I'm practically going bald. I don't care that I can see my dead husband sitting on the kitchen counter drinking coffee waiting for me to come home. This is the only way I can live. This is the only way I can feel alive.
THE END
That's it for my very very short story. These events are all fiction inspired by the TV series HOUSE M.D if u haven't seen it, I STRONGLY recommend.
Sorry if this was too sad? sorry not sorry.
All love, stay safe and if it gets too tough find a healthy distraction from reality.
