#insomnia angst

1 hour and 30 minutes, since last naproxen. The bright phone screen blares at you as you keep hanging onto the counter letting all your body weight hang in your already weak arms, as the rest of your body protested at the thought of sitting down or worse eating something. Your stomach rolled at even the thought, offended. You could barely remember the day that had already passed. Your brain aching at even the thought. A mess of pain, water and pills. Your stomach rolls again and this time you feel the acid burning in your throath, so you do your best to direct your body towards the trashcan always next to your pills. Heaving into it within seconds, your vision is quick to fill with star, letting out a groan you press your burning forehead onto the cold metal just above your head. In a desperate attempt to readsure your body you're okay you paw at the pill packet and to your shock find it empty. With the blister pack still in the box, and you who were sure you just bought new pills. Because you did, didn't you? You look at the packet again trying to focus on the ammount of pills in one packet with your vision swimming and your legs wanting nothing more than to give out. 60 pills you finally make out on the packet. Swearing softly to yourself you call Mel, your med student neighbour who probably could take a quick question as to when a bit too much meds became too much too handle, especially for someone with a kidney as shot up as yours. Probably, Mel answers on the fifth ring when your hand has already started going numb from rubbing away the black spots in your vision. She sounds out of breath as she picks up, almost as if she has been running to pick up the phone. "Hey Mel, quick question for my favorite neighbor. How many Naproxen could I hypothetically take before needing my stomach pumped?" You can hear Mel trying to reign in her fury at you, or rather your body, but before she has time to gather herself another voice answers in her place. "If it's bad enough to call a friend about you should swing by" you can't quite tell if he's joking or not or wheter he understands the pain you are in right now or the way your thighs cramp at even the thought of moving. "Not happening" you grit out turning your face towards the trashcan again as you heave out the rest of your stomach content. "Mel could you send an ambulance to your friends apartment?" Is the last thing you hear the dey voice say to Mel before the call disconnects.

By the time the paramedics arrive you're pretty sure your body has begun reacting to the toxic wasteland of pills you have created, especially considering the fact your vision is almost entirely black now and how you ended up on the floor of your kitchen instead of standing against your kitchen counter. The paramedics do their best as always to keep you alert but the black spots in your vision are becoming more and more inviting the harder they try.

"Velcome back stubborn" is the first thing you hear a while, a few hours or maybe a few days later, that same dry voice meeting your eardrum. Closer now without the blood pounding in your ear and the metalic smell in your house. You look around the place the stashed you in, a blue curtain seperating you from the rest of the ward there's two chairs pulled up by your bed one of which occupies a sleeping Mel the other an unfamiliar man whom the dry voice must belong to. The place is humming with machinery and before your brain can catch up and remember the ambulance ride you're silently questioning what this dream is trying to tell you. But then you feel the pull of stitches as you angle your head towards the man next to Mel. His hair which you guess is usually curly based on the loose curls matted against his forehead as he once again silently runs his hands through his hair, which would probably feel better if he gave it a rest for the night. "I didn't try to kill myself" you hurry to explain as he gives you one more long look. Your voice raspy and weak. He nods just once before looking down at the ipad in his lap. "Sure whatever you say," he mutters punching in something in the system. "Why would I call Mel if it was planned?" You ask demanding an answer with your still weak voice. "Who knows, maybe you like the attention?" He says, twisting the wedding band on his finger with the far away look I have wittnessed too many times in friends partner's after they leave this world, either too tierd to keep fighting or their bodies couldn't catch up with their ideas and plans. "How long ago?" You ask him nodding towards the ring. "Eight years this August," he mumbles almost ashamed of it. Still with the morphine in your system making you both more pain-free and also more brave you ask, "Oh, I'm sorry, I guess it's life. Was it expected?" The man silently shakes his head as all his energy seems to have been zapped out of him. "She crashed our car on the way home from work. Nothing surrvived." He clamps down on his ring as if trying to spare himself from remembering too much about it. "It’s better thank knowing she was in pain for years at least" You shrug only getting a bowed head in answer from him. "But it's good, healthy you're moving on. How long have you and and Mel been?" You gesture between the two of them making him back out a laugh. Trowing back his head and letting his whole face transform with the sound into a younger more carefree version of himself. "I'm not- I'm her attending." The man says flustered "I'm only here because I had to make sure you woke up sometime today" he teases butit's softer, lighter somehow now that he's been able to laugh a bit. "Oh yeah? Then would you care to tell me why I'm here doctor?"

Planting his arms on his knees and leaning foward he both introduces himself as Jack Abot your doctor for today's hospital trip. He then launches in to tell you exactly who did what when you first came in and then in a softer tone he explains your limitations for the next few months. The news he's referring you to a phycologist as soon as you're out from the hospital this time around dosen't surprise you. He probably had no choice but to do so when the first suspicion of self harm came. "I didn't mean to do this, I promise you doc. I have an app that tells me when it's safe to take more pills and everything. I don't want yo die" You say pleading with him to belive you the words ringing true even to your own ears. I don't want to die, echoes in your mind long after you've said it and slowly you close your eyes seeing all your friends who on their deathbed had said the same thing. It was one thing to dream of dying, of losing the pain that had become more of a constant than anything else in your life. But realizing how close to death you had been made you realize just how badly you wanted a diagnosis, that most of your friends had been robbed by before dying, and just how badly you wanted to experience a good day again. One where you could watch the sunrise or sunset and laugh with friends about old memories. Because truth be told you liked your little life. You liked dancing silly dances in your bathroom at 5 am on a good day. You liked the routine of caring for the graves of your friends who had no one else to care for them anymore as everyone else was on the other side except you. You had always stayed with the promise to care for beloved dogs and cats along with plant babies. It was your job, to be the one who stayed. As you open your eyes again Jack is starting ar you and your tear stained hospital gown. "I want to live Jack" you murmur again your voice raw from not using it and your mind still full of abandoned and forgotten graves. Where you would no doubt end up if you'd not gotten the help you had tonight. "Most of my friends are dead. But I don't want to die Jack" you repeat slower this time more for your own sake than his.