Play No Complaints by Noah Kahan
Sertraline.
50 mg tablets.
Take 1 and a ½ tablets by mouth daily.
May make you drowsy or dizzy.
Do not drink alcohol with this drug.
I stare at the little orange bottle in my palm, allowing my eyes to dance over the labeling. The corner of the paper has been slightly pulled off, leaving a sticky residue in its absence. The tablets pile on top of one another on the other side of the label, waiting for the day they're chosen to help me produce serotonin. Every single day for the last 186 days I’ve taken one and a half of the blue little pills. Anything to keep myself afloat.
“You’ve been doing so much better, Nova.”
“your spark has returned”
“Did you take your meds today?”
I place the bottle back down, leaving it to sit on my desk, and rest my forehead against the cool, dark stained wood.Day by day, NovaI try to remind myself even though I know better.Truthfully it’s day after day. It’s spending every waking moment fighting with my thoughts, who are begging me to let go. It’s sleepless nights and a lack of appetite. It’s the constant feeling of watching paint dry. Like I’m strapped in a chair, left completely helpless, while I watch opportunities whirl by me. It’s all the lost friendships, the half finished art works, the pile of empty water bottles sitting by my bed. It’s the vessel I am stuck in, while simultaneously being the water that is flowing in.Drowning me.
I’m never going to wake up one morning and be fixed, these pills will never be anything more than another piece of wood that holds back the dam. That thought alone drives me into a never ending spiral. This is who I am, no matter what I try. Countless herbs, pills, exercises, and diets. Nothing fucking works.
“Don’t forget your meds.”
“How was your last appointment?”
“Are you safe?”
It’s incredible how fragile the human mind can be. How the lack of one chemical can leave you yearning for death. The thoughts float by me almost like a daydream.Suicidal ideationmy doctor informed me after adding on another 25 milligrams to my prescription during a previous visit. I roll my head until my cheek is pressed against the desk and stare at the bottle again. Sunlight highlights the orange plastic as it seeps in through my bedroom curtains, showcasing my failed attempts at finding peace on my own. The bottle sits there, mocking me. Proving to me that it’s not going to get better. I’ve run out of options, false cures.I’m damaged goods.
I’ve explained it before like a dense fog, one I wandered into long ago, only to never be seen again. It consumed me. I tried for so long to find my way out, but the long journey did nothing but make me grow weaker. Eventually I found peace in letting the fog in. Taking deep breaths and allowing it to infiltrate everycorner of my lungs. The pain began to feel like home. Nothing was ever certain, ever consistent, butthe pain was always there.
“Suicide is never the answer.”
“The world is better with you in it.”
“You have so much to live for.”
I bore my eyes into the plastic, watching as my fingers wander to the already peeling label. Carefully I grasp onto the paper, tugging at it until it falls against the wood. The loose lid pops off with ease, inviting the pills to spill out.
One by one they tumble their way towards me, some spilling off of the side and landing in the off white carpet below me.The light blue contrasts so deeply against the old, stained threads. I reach forward and pluck one from its stationary position, admiring the chalk like texture against my fingertips.It’s time to find peace, Nova.
At first, there’s no taste. Just the feeling of the object in my mouth. As if a small pill bug had crawled its way in, just to take a rest on my tastebuds. I let it sit, slowly dissolving in my saliva. The outer coating is the first to break off, letting the taste of the chemicals fill my mouth. It’s done to be a deterrent, something to stop children from swallowing them. But that taste of it now allows me to feel something one last time.
Once I’m satisfied with how little of the pill is left, I consume another one, repeating the process. I find something comforting in my last moments being spent uncomfortably. Forcing myself to not spit it out, relishing in the flavor of my demise. It’s all I’ve ever known, and it’s all I’ll ever be. And what joy it brings me to know that it’s almost over.
I reach forward, dragging the last pill towards me. I was so lost in my melancholy, I hadn’t noticed I’d already reached the end. A lazy smile crawls across my face, my body filling with warmth for the first time in years.“The luckiest girl in the whole world,”I mumble out, placing the last one behind my teeth.
I drag myself up to my feet, slowly making my way over to the bed. It lies, hidden, in the corner of my dorm room. A small giggle escapes me as I realize how ironic it is now. My dark and lonesome bed will now truly become my tomb. Months of rotting away under the covers, only to turn it into where my soul will finally find peace.
Play Medicine by Daughter
The cold, black, sheets feel like heaven pressed against my skin. It’s been such a warm early summer here in Maine, and I thank my lucky stars I’ll get to escape the heat of July and August.
I lay there in my bed, watching as the sun slowly begins to drift down. The sky fills with the most beautiful hues of orange and pink.A perfect final sunset.The most perfect goodbye to a life that was hardly lived.
I let my eyes begin to drift up to the ceiling, watching as small specks of color begin to decorate the popcorn spackle. My thoughts drift in and out of reality as I watch the art my mind creates from me. Memories of a childhood I’m unaware of flutter past me. Not like a butterfly, like a month. Fast, dark, covered in dust. Something that was meant to be forgotten.
