Ultimate Contradictions

Last night, I held a handful of pills in my hand.

They felt heavy. Heavy like stones. They weighed down my palm with their cold, dense selves and their poisonous touches burned my skin.

At first, I didn’t even know why I had taken them out in the first place. What was the purpose of trying something that wouldn’t even work?

They hurt to look at. My eyes stung when I glanced over to the- white, white, white,  was it normal for things to be this white?- medicine. They sent my brain into a fuzzy puzzle of should I should I should I? and why not, why not, why not?  I didn’t think anyone would miss me.

It hurt to think that way, but a tiny sliver of me wanted to die only to see how others would react. Would they even cry? Would life keep moving on?

Well, it was a dumb idea to even think about.

The fact was, that even with me gone, the world would move on… And that scared me more than I’d like to admit.

I sat there for a while with the pills in my hand, a flurry of thoughts coursing through my head at lightening-fast speed. The days had become long and gray, even today, typing this; the work is tedious and difficult to finish.

I sat with the death bringing overdose artillery in my hand with a deep crease on my forehead for several minutes. Worthless worthless worthless. The thoughts wouldn’t go away.

They never, ever would.

I threw the pills at my bedroom wall swiftly. They made dull patters before falling, soundlessly to the carpet.

Life is horrible.

Life kills.

I kill.

I’m killing myself slowly.

With this daunting, tiresome control,

This control I crave but don’t even want. I don’t know what to do. I don’t. I don’t. I don’t like living but death seems so permanent. The whole monstrosity of everything makes me hurt inside.

The ultimate contradiction.