Deadly Drug

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Everyone has a way to cope with the harshness of reality. Most ways are harmless. But what if your way of coping was deadly?

Submitted: July 03, 2012

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Submitted: July 03, 2012

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You know the feeling you get in your stomach when you're nervous or excited?

A feeling so intense that you feel high just from feeling it?

I love that feeling.

But one thing I love more then that is pain, my pain.

I find my self in my kitchen digging through the knife drawer.

I pull out a small knife and look around to see if I am alone.

Of course I am.

I watch as I drag the silver blade across my pale skin.

Feel it bite into the soft flesh into the blue rivers of life that decorate it.

I stare as the scarlet liquid seeps out and drops to the dark honey wood floor in perfect little drops.

I enjoy the high sensation that comes with the pain.

I get so high, I can hear angels singing.

Suddenly, everything is black.

***

I wake up to find myself in a hospital bed with my left arm wrapped in thick white gauze.

A nurse walks in, she smiles at me.

She tells me what happened and who found me.

My brother, of course.

Then my parents come in and start asking me if I was ok, what happened, if I did it.

The nurse comes back in and escorts my parents out.

I stare at the ceiling hoping, praying that no one finds out.

***

A week later, i find myself in school in the shrinks office.

I'm alone.

The shrink walks in with her bee hive of a hairdo and her plain business suit.

She sits down and pulls a pad and a pen out of her briefcase.

She asks me a few questions, what my name is, when my birthday was, ect.

Then she questions me about 'that night'.

The night iI almost killed myself.

I wanted to jump up, grab her by the shoulders, and shout at her.

Shout that i was normal, that i didn't do anything wrong, that i wasn't suicidal.

Instead, I simply sat there and stared at her like she was an alien.

***

I once again find myself in the kitchen.

The kinfe is in my hand, the blade to my skin.

This time I cut deeper then I ever have.

The blood flows faster.

Bone becomes visible.

Within minutes I pass out.

Soon after, I die.


© Copyright 2018 Kirsten Tousignant. All rights reserved.

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