Killing Myself w/ Words.

Your name is Alex. When you were 13, you were diagnosed with severe depression and Agoraphobia. This diagnosis fucked you up more than the depression did. You were hopped up on several different medications, one of which leaving you paralyzed for a week. A 'smile' on your face, you've never been the same.

You became addicted to drugs. Weed; acid; ecstasy; lean: You've tried a little of everything. Except cocaine. Cocaine scares you.

You live now with your boyfriend. He's lovely; wonderful person. He puts a genuine smile on your face from time to time. But your dreams are cruel; it's the one place you can't hide behind a mask or medication. Often, your dreams kill him. You've had dreams of him dying in horrible ways that it begins to wear you down. You can't tell if he's even real anymore. You feel like your world is falling apart.

Tonight is the night you've dreamt of. Your boyfriend is at work until midnight and you are alone. Minus your mother who is fast asleep on the other side of the house, you are alone. Sitting in bed, time passes by like a hurricane. It destroys your the mental barricade you've built, leaving you stranded in the rain.

You've been taking your meds like you're supposed to, minus a day or two. You've done nothing wrong. You've hurt no one. No one has hurt you. Yet, you wish you were dead. Why? is a question you can't answer.

It starts with a fit of anger. Annoyance. Little things start to make you tick like a time-bomb. Two hours pass. The anger builds and spirals you into the ground. Your skin begins to crawl. You want out of your own skin.

Thirty minutes pass. Anger turns into a cold numbness. You prepare your bong. Thoughts begin to build up. You take a hit. They begin to become intrusive. What if's terrorize you. Do this; Do that. You take another hit.

Not even fifteen minutes pass. You have gathered all you need to make lean. Cough syrup, 7up, and hard candy. It's a twisted version, but it works just as well. You pour your ingredients into a tall wine glass. You also roll a joint. Something about tonight makes you hope it kills you. You take a sip while hitting the joint.

Thirty minutes pass. You feel like your in a dream. More like a nightmare. The door opens slowly.

"You mind telling me what you're doing?" A familiar voice beckons. Shit.

"Nothing," You lie. "Just needed a smoke."

He points to the wine glass. "That doesn't look like a smoke."

He sits next to you. You both sit in silence for what seems like years.

"Your friend is worried about you," He says. "Says you've been talking about ODing."

You sit silent, pulling at the skin around your nails. You let the ash for the joint fall into the ashtray. He looks at you, intent on your response. Why do you care? You remain silent.

"What's going on, Alex?" You hear a crack in his voice. Your throat feels like it's on fire. The tears form in your eyes. You swallow hard.

"Nothing," You lie. You start to get irritated. You feel a stray tear slide down you cheek to the corner of your mouth.

"Bull-fucking-shit," He says, emphasis in each syllable. You hold your breath. "I haven't known you long, but this. . ." He pauses, looking for the right words to say. Instead, he lets it go. You release your breath.

You have no words. Nothing to say. Nothing to argue. There's nowhere to run. You're trapped.

"Can I just be left alone-," You begin to say. He cuts you off.

"Fuck no," He says, another crack in his voice. "I'm not leaving you alone so you can go off and do something horrible to yourself."

What was a stray tear turns into multiple. Strays turn into a pack of wolves.

"Why do you care?" You ask.

"You're fucking joking," He scoffs. "Because I love you." Those words tug at your chest.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and you want to take that away from me," He continues. "You're selfish."

"Stop-" Your voice is hoarse.

"I'm not fucking leaving you so you can hurt yourself," His voice quivers as he speaks. Your eyes wander to him. He's crying. "Because I fucking love you."

He tilts his head back, looking at the ceiling. You wipe your tears.

Before you can react, you’re pulled into a hug.

“Don’t leave me,” He says. His voice is shaking. And so is he. Out of stubborn refusal, you don’t hug him back. “Don’t you dare leave me.”