Sweating The Small Stuff

But I'm Not Crazy I'm Just A Little Unwell

"Anxiety isn't rational. And neither was I." -Kerri Sackville.

*~*~*~*~*~*

I can't do this anymore. My hands ran through my hair as I stared at my reflection. The constant worrying, the stress, I can't handle it anymore.

"What happened to you?!" I yell at myself, "Why can't you just focus? Why can't you just talk to people like a normal person?!"

I know I should calm down, my dad would be home soon, but I couldn't. The panic that was rushing through me wasn't going away like usual. I just want this to end. I knew what I had to do.

I shuffled quickly down the stairs and walked down the hall to my dad's bedroom. He usually locked the door but I learned how to sneak in with a credit card when I was younger so I could see the Christmas presents. When I slipped inside I went to my dad's medicine cabinet and snagged his bottle of sleeping pills, quickly shutting the door and running back up to my room. I never thought it'd end this way, I love my life. Sure, I freak out every now and then, but my friends are nice and my family loves me, and I them. It hurt knowing I would hurt them like this, I couldn't let them think it was their fault so I did the cliché thing and wrote a note.

Everyone,

I hate that I'm writing this letter. I hate that I did this to you, to myself. Most of you know I struggle with Anxiety which stems from ADD, and if you thought I've been more stressed lately, you're right.

It's irrational, my worry, I know there's nothing to stress about, but I stress anyway. But, to carry on with the earlier idea of this note; I can't take it anymore. Therapy is stupid (Dad, you remember that I got kicked out) and the medicine only helps a little bit, when I remember to take it. I love you all, and I KNOW you love me too, so please don't blame yourselves. This is my choice.

Cheyenne, you're my sister, the best-est friend I could ever ask for. I know you won't understand why stress would make me do this, but just imagine that feeling you got when you smoked. You hated it so you quit, and I'm so proud of you for that. That feeling that caused you to smoke more is kind of like this crap my brain goes through. But anyways, enough rambling. I'll miss you.

Ashton, just like how Cheyenne is my sister, you are my brother. You were always there to help pick me back up on my feet, literally. Please take care of Chey, I know only you can. I'll miss you, too.

So, this is it guys. Remember how I was, not this. The stress finally won, and I don't want a rematch. I love you all.

Love, Dani

By the time I had finished the short letter I had tears streaming down my face, not necessarily from being sad, but from the relief coursing through me. It was finally time for me to not worry anymore.

Folding up the note I taped it to the mirror so it'd be easily seen, "I hope they understand."

Walking over to my bed I slowly popped open the cap off the bottle and shook about 10 pills into my hand.

"Well, here goes nothing."

*~*~*~*~*~*

"Breathing has returned to normal and her blood pressure is slowly returning back to normal, Doctor Wills."

"Alright, Marissa. I'm going to alert her father of her condition and talk with him about our program. Page me if there are signs of her waking up so I can determine if there was any brain damage, there shouldn't be but we just want to be positive."

"Of course, Doctor Wills."

Even though I was listening to their conversation I didn't really understand what I was hearing, I'm dead now, why would they need to talk to my dad?