SILENT Turmoil

I keep staring at the bottle of sleeping pills next to my bed and the only thing I can hear at a steady rhythm is my heart even though the television volume is up. I’ve been sitting here at the side edge of my bed for about an hour, smelling the aroma of straight Hennessey that I poured in a greenish blue cocktail glass. While remaining emotionless, I pick up my wallet to look at my driver’s license to observe how different the person in the photo is from the person contemplating taking a final breath. The state of Massachusetts is written across the top portion of the plastic ID in blue writing and my name is typed in black as, Prestine, April D. As soon as I realize that the same day I took that license picture was another day of unanswered questions and depression, I took a large gulp from the glass. I squeeze my eyes tightly together and when I open them, a tear slides down my cheek. I’m not exactly sure why since I haven’t been able to cry for weeks. Liquor is the only logical reason why water has seeped through my tear ducts.

As I sit here I begin looking at the pill bottle again and decide to pour its contents on the nightstand. From the looks of it there are at least fifteen white pills in front of me that appear to be a permanent remedy for my soul’s pain. One by one I begin popping them in my mouth, chasing them down my scratchy throat with Hennessey. I have relived this day repeatedly in my head, but I honestly didn’t think it would come. I figured that it would always be a vision in my mind that I would be too scared to really follow through with. Well I was wrong ...

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