Day 47 of 100

It was the light that always got me.

That moment when you cracked the one eye not buried in your pillow to gauge time.

This morning, the blurry clock gave me no answer to life. The light slipping in between the blinds told me nothing, but the pain in my head—the fact that there was pain in my head reminded me of my promise.

Life. Waking up meant I chose life.

With a deep sigh, I whipped back the blanket, knocking a cat out of the bed, and sat up. Billie and Taylor stretched and sat down waiting for their morning pets.

“Good puppies. You two are always the best thing about waking up.”

One would have expected a room in such disarray to smell, but the first sense that fired up was hearing.

It was just so damn quiet.

The curtains were drawn, and while the shadows of cars passed, their sound died as it reached the room. The tv was on, but made no noise and the lights on the stereo moved to an unheard beat.

The couch, which was once high end and displayed on the front page of the Design Within Reach website was covered in animal fur and an entire section was chewed down to the foam core exposing the expensive wood skeleton which bore teeth marks of an overly anxious puppy.

It might have been a living room once, but it had clearly transformed into a room waiting for death, my death.

Which I had welcomed for so long.

As I drew the bag to my face I could smell that acidic sweet smell that was so specific. The smell I would remember in my dreams for years to come.

“Do you want to do some?” I asked myself.

“I do.” I quickly replied. “But I promised.”

The night before had been years in the making. I had tried to reach my bottom on my own so many times in the past, but every time I hit it, I was shown that I had the ability to sink further. I had the ability to keep going. To pursue the perfect end.

Stop or die. Quit fucking around. Stop or die.

By waking up, I had chosen to stop.