I Could Die For You (Editing In Progress)

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The month following my departure from California's arms was that of a nightmare. My nights and days were spent at home, under the careful watch of no one but myself. I'd go out only on chores, like grocery shopping or stopping off at the bank. The only joy I'd ever felt was each time there was a flash of lightning or a crack of thunder.
Kaity visited me a few times a week. Within these visits she'd tend to my apartment, cleaning my clothing, washing some dishes, all while I lay lifeless on the couch. Each time she'd come she'd make sad remarks about how much weight I lost, how dead I looked, how cold my skin was, that my hair was dirty or needed to be brushed. I'd turn blank, and think, "How can I take care of myself if my heart is feeling nothing but pain? How am I to fix something that this time, I don't know how to?"
When Kaity would leave me, I would go sit out on my balcony with a cup of tea and my sketch pad, and sketch. 10 of these times, I sketched Anthony. 7 of these reflected light in him, 3 the dark side that haunted me. I ripped them off of the pad once I had finished and hung them up in my bedroom on the left wall, that had a small window which overlooked Seattle.
Another month passed of the same routine. I stopped eating, I stopped listening to music, and playing the drums or my dear guitars. I showered only when Kaity came over and forced me to. She force fed me, and watched me turn to dust before her eyes. The only thing I did do, by my own will, was drink the bottles of whisky I always kept, wonder and cry.
I didn't sketch at all in the third month; I couldn't imagine having the motivation to. I'd lay in bed for hours at a time, and think about John. I'd cry for what seemed like an eternity all because I missed him. I was upset that after all our talks, all our confessions of admiration, I wasn't even worth a call to check up on. These were followed by fits of tears cause by Anthony, and how much I missed him. Then, I'd cry because I missed the rest of the guys. Then, I'd cry because I was sad and I missed a lot of people, and I knew I wasn't doing well.
The fourth month came, and I was shriveling away. Kaity threatened to take me to a doctor, but each time I'd promise that I would try to get better, although I knew that as soon as she left I would open a new bottle of vodka or whisky and pretend I wasn't thinking of ways to kill myself.
One day, I sat alone on my couch watching CNN when my phone started ringing. Figuring it was Kaity, I swallowed a hard gulp of beer and picked it up.
"Hello?"
I waited for an answer, but all I could hear was the quiet breathing of another person through the line.
"Hello? Is someone there?"
"Lilly..?"
My heart dropped to my stomach and I swear I felt the acid devour it, bit by bit.
I didn't answer Anthony. What the fuck was I supposed to answer? Why did I have to even fucking answer him?
"Lilly? Please.. please answer me."
I waited another minute, as a sharp pain formed in my throat. It was the pain that soon after brought a million tears. It was the building up of another fit of sobbing. I hung up my phone and stared back at the TV.
Slowly, my eyes began to water and then tears flooded down my face. I crawled into fetus position on my couch, clutching the pillows and wrapping a blanket around me. I cried into this comfort for at least three hours, while the sun shined brightly outside. Sunny days in Seattle were never good days for me. I stand strong on this assumption.
A fifth month passed, and my routine had come to a halt when I woke up in the middle of the night to throw up. Figuring it was just something that didn't agree with my stomach, I made my way to the bathroom quickly and let it run its course. 15 minutes later, I was still throwing up and in a lot of pain.
I managed to make my way to the phone and dial Kaity's number. After I explained to her what was happening, she drove to my apartment, picked me up and took me to the emergency center nearby. I saw a doctor and was told I suffered from acute alcohol poisoning that had built up over the usage of my torturous five months of Anthony withdraw.