14Take Your Suicide Pills
I've been taking them for as long as I remember. It's been a part of my routine, such as brushing my teeth or washing my face. They were the first things I woke up to, three round pills on a Petri dish, placed on my bureau. There was a glass, too, full of liquid. It wasn't water. It burned my throat, and bubbled down my stomach, making everything blurry and confusing. I remember blacking out when it was really bad. But they told me it helped. They said it was fine.
I believed them.
When I was seven, I tasted the beautiful substance- water- for the first time. Fresh and clear, it was tasteless and slipped down my throat, almost automatically. At the time, there was a large, tiled room, divided by cubicles. There were white structures, "potties", I had called them. The sinks spouted this magical gift. I leaned forward and drank. Not drank- gulped, guzzled, inhaled. And with each swallow, I felt lighter, I saw clearer- I Saw. It was amazing.
I later learned we had them at home, too. But not for long.
The White Coats caught me drinking. I didn't know it wasn't allowed at the time. They pulled me up by the ear, dragged me to a Cot Room, and locked me in for the rest of the day. When I was released, I found the Food Room, turned the tap, and leaned over the stream to drink. Then I threw up.
They had replaced the taps. It was the same foul substance as I got every morning, every night, and as I would for the rest of my life.
The very next morning, I woke to four pills and an extra glass.
Time passed. I grew another year. It was then that I spoke out.
"Pills are for sick people. I'm not sick."
"They'll help you get better," I was told. Better. I was reassured. And again, I believed them.
But, like they said, I did. I did get better. I began to See again, without water. It was heaven, the first months. A veil seemed to have come off- I breathed deeper, I Saw more, and I Did. I Did things- my head buzzed. I Spoke sometimes, when I felt it was needed, in a sharp, boxy tongue. I no longer found frustration in remembering names or places. It was then that I noticed a little creature on my pills. I had Seen the pills of others, about my height and size- all were colourless, odourless, and smooth, with no markings.
Mine tasted like- what was it I had read? – grape, a juvenile flavour. With a childish image. I found it hardly fit for myself now- with newfound curves and height.
"This is a kid pill. I'm not a kid anymore," I insisted. I wanted to See more, Hear more.
To my surprise- a burst of emotion- they agreed. They chattered amongst themselves, how a small amount couldn't possibly keep me, a growing one. In the span of a few days, White Coats came and went. They carried with them clear tubes with a variety of bubbling liquids. I widened my eyes at the pills- surely there was one for me!
There was a single blue pill this morning. It was semi-translucent, with little beads of glittering bubbles trapped inside. Eagerly, I took it with the usual glass.
Immediately, a heavy blanket draped over me. Everything dulled, quieted. I struggled to grasp a thought, a Sight, anything. I found I couldn't panic. My brain hummed along peacefully. Wake up, I screamed at it. Something's wrong! Do something! It ignored me. Everything's fine, a new voice told me. It wasn't mine. I tried to concentrate was well as I could.
It was like they shut off the light. I tried to speak, to call. My throat stung, the liquid still burned away at my throat. I tried to Breathe. I only got half as much. It was adequate- I was having no trouble breathing, but it was not enough.
All my senses bordered on the edge. I willed my energy, to get it all back, but nothing worked. Something was wrong. Wrong. But my dulled brain wouldn't snap in place. I walk messily into the Main Room, trying to find someone. It was completely empty. I slump on the couch, and click on the coveted television I was always kept away from.
The first scene is a fast paced blur. I catch phrases here and there, but can't make sense of anything. I turn the volume up. It takes me three tries for my thumb to connect with the remote. My brain told me I was watching something, no more.
I fall asleep on the couch.
I wake up to a blaring man's voice. I Smell static. The previous sensation of being repressed is gone. Thoughts flood my head, swarms too fast to process. I can See now. There was a pill laid next to me, but I ignored it. I didn't want to be closed off again. I focused my attention to the TV, where a man sits at a polished table, rattling off facts. While he talks, a stream of words run along the bottom of the screen. I squint to Read them.
15 Dead in a Tragic Shooting, I Read. The screen changes from the man to a horde of bodies, grotesquely twisted, piled in a ditch. The camera zoomed in- my heightened Sight saw their expressions, they had died with intense pain. Some lay along a dank alley, blood oozing from every part imaginable. Bugs were feasting on pale skin. An arm was twisted off, and lay at least 3 metres away from its owner. Men in suits were hauling the decaying bodies into what seemed like a garbage truck. Flies were everywhere. The whole scene was surrounded in yellow tape.
I Watched in horror as car drove at full speed into the yellow tape. It ran right over four of the bodies; I flinched at the sickening crunch and clapped a hand over my mouth. I felt sick. The bodies had been reduced to a mess of muscle and cracked bones. I could See the drunk driver behind the wheel.
I feel my heart pounding in my ears. What was this? Was this Life? Was this what happens? I could feel my blood, now devoid of medication, coursing through my body, pulsing under my skin, heating me from the inside out. With every second, the pounding got louder, more rapid. I try to tear my eyes away. I couldn't. Was this Living, then? The clips ran faster and faster. A mother beat her son. Slave workers hunched over texiles, weaving until even their fingernails were bloody, still they kept on. A young woman chained to a bed; the man advancing on her… Wars raged. Children not yet old enough to read, carrying guns. Starving families clutching their stomachs in pain. An abandoned newborn, stung purple with cold, wailed for its mother.
I sunk to the floor, face wet, hands covered with my own vomit. It was too much. Too much. I black out.
I wake up in my own cot, eye level with the familiar Petri dish containing my meds.
I never forgot to take them again.