"Everyone has darkness sometimes," I whispered outloud to myself as I willed my tired body to finally crawl out of bed. It was well into the afternoon by this point, but I just couldn't muster up the energy to face the world. I'd been feeling like this on most days actually. Like what's the point of even being alive? Ghosts can do cool stuff too. I finally dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet to get my Cipralex. I opened the bottle, dumped out one of the small, white pills and just stared at it.
I have no idea how long I stood there just staring, wondering what the point of taking was. It's not like it made me feel that much better. Why should I take a pill to stop me from feeling things? Feelings are good for you right? They're normal. Everyone has feelings just like everyone has darkness I guess. I flushed the small, white pill down the toilet and sat leaning against the bathtub, hugging my knees close to my chest. I started to nod off to sleep again, wondering if my bathtub was haunted. I imagined a ghost floating up through the drain. If it was friendly, I'd make it my friend, I mean, if it wanted to be. Human friends aren't really something I have a lot of, like I haven't even heard my phone's ringtone in forever. Maybe the world ended and I'm the only one left. I just haven't notived yet because I don't leave my house much.
"That's really dumb, Christian," I thought to myself. "There are actually still people out there, they just hate you because you're dumb." I dragged myself onto my feet again and went to grab my toothbrush, but instead, got distracted by the razor blade I keep sitting beside it on the bathroom counter. It got my attention because it's shiny I guess. I picked up the blade, pressed the edge of it to the skin of my wrist and slowly dragged it across, just like I do every day when I wake up. I waited for blood to bead up on the surface, and when I saw the pitiful amount that came out, I felt like it wasn't enough. Maybe I was already dead and just conveniently managed to forget. Only one way to find out, I guess. I dragged the blade across the inside of my left wrist again, much harder this time. Blood flowed freely out of the wound, dripping into the white porcelain of the sink. It looked kind of cool. Then I noticed the pain. "That's for being dumb," I said to myself. I cut deep across my wrist again. "That's because no one loves you, so you don't deserve to love yourself." I reached up and grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol out of my still-open medicine cabinet. It was almost empty, so I poured the remainder of its contents over my multitude of cuts, savoring the burning pain in my wrist.
Deciding it's time for breakfast, I head downstairs to scavenge for food. The only thing in my fruit bowl is Frank the avocado. Frank has been there for me through thick and thin, helping my through all the ups and downs for a long time; at least a couple weeks, maybe. I'm practically starving but just can't bring myself to eat my green fruit friend. I carry him back upstairs with me and crawl back into bed, drifting back off to sleep, feeling the deep pain in my wrist and hugging my bestie Frank to stay calm. I just can't part with the little green guy.
