Salvation {h.s}

fifteen

tw: mentions of overdose, suicide
-also a little trigger warning for people with emetophobia!

Harry Styles

"You're going to be okay," she tries to smile at me as I bring up my shaking hand to hold hers. She lightly squeezes it for reassurance. From that moment, I feel all my strength slowly fade away, almost like I'm on a cloud that shatters into miniature molecules of water.

My eyes slowly open when the warm sun touches my face through the curtains. I try to take a breath, but something in my lungs stops me. My guts tighten, and I feel warm saliva gather in my mouth, so I get on my feet and run to the bathroom.

As soon as my knees hit the cold tiles, my stomach empties into the toilet. All the shit I put in my body last night is staring at me from the bowl. I squeeze my eyes hard and breathe through it. I flush, carefully stand up, and walk over to the sink with my wobbly knees and weak stomach not helping me much.

Looking into the mirror, my reflection startles me. My face resembles a faint white wall, my eyes bloodshot, and surrounded by dark circles. As I lean down to splash my face, I flinch at the stinging pain that starts at the back of my neck and travels down my spine. I must have fallen last night or something.

I still manage to wash my face with cold water and keep splashing it until my face is red and irritated. Then I take my towel and dry the droplets of water running down my cheeks. Even though I feel a little awake now, the misery keeps coursing through me, not letting me feel anything else. I open the door, about to walk out but I stop in my tracks. Through the little gap, I see her.

She's sitting in the armchair, eyes softly closed, arms around her waist as if she's hugging herself. She still has her skirt and blouse on from last night. I gaze into the gap for a few minutes and then remind myself I'm standing here like a creep.

I walk out of the bathroom and something small stumbles between my feet.

"Hey love," I whisper and break into a smile when I spot my cat, Felice, trying to gain my attention. I bend down and pick her up, walking out to my backyard terrace. I slowly stroke her head as I hold her in my left arm. Cold air hits my nostrils and I take a few deep breaths to sort of compose myself.

I sit down on the lounge chair and take in the view of Los Angeles I might never get tired of. Life moves so fast, but so goddamn slow at the same time. No matter what happens, and it could be the worst thing in your entire existence, life will always go on. You might think it stopped, you might think that this is the end for you, and there's nothing worse that you could go through but there is.

I remember the first time I overdosed. I was seventeen years old and took too many Tylenol pills for my own good. I didn't realize I was overdosing until later when I was lying half-unconscious on a bathroom floor.

The first thing I felt was the slow dissipating into the atmosphere. I felt at peace, but I also felt pain. I felt every betrayal. I felt the hatred that people in my circle might have felt towards me if they saw me now. I felt disappointment, not only in myself but in my body.

I felt disappointed that my body managed to fight the overdose, that it managed to keep me alive. But I also felt disappointed that it wasn't strong enough to not make me feel miserable.

I hated my mind for forcing me to make stupid decisions but also the ability to make me want to die in the most cowardly way possible. Why didn't it make me jump off a bridge or something? Or blow my brains out? Even that is more brave than shoving fucking headache pills down my throat.

As time went on after my first overdose, I realized that it can always get worse but it can also always get better.

That night when I was seventeen, I felt alone. I felt like there was nothing that could stop me. No one could convince me to do any better.