I lay here in an uncomfortable bed tossing and turning. Not yet realizing how bad I want to die. Laying beside me a dog curled up against my restless body and I can’t leave her just yet. The bed squeaks and creeks with every move because of the weight I’ve gained. The pills and cigarettes in my nightstand yelling at me “one won’t hurt” but I know that if I start with one I’ll finish them all. They are for another time.
Everytime I think I’m getting better I fall back into the same hole. Each time hitting rock bottom but still finding a way to pull myself back up kicking and screaming. The medication not helping anymore. Therapy only makes me feel worse. I’m alone. Well almost alone. There’s a sweet dog curled beside me and I can’t leave her yet.