March Madness – Poisoned

Warning: vague mention of suicide… or maybe not so vague….uhh, just mentions suicide… kinda

I take poison everyday.

My eggs are dosed with melonchaly, my chocolate with sorrow, and my bagel with anxiety.

Each bite only weakens my tolerance, and dulls my ability to recognize it’s taste. Pretty soon, I won’t realize the toxin is in my system.

The effects kicked in long ago, I could feel it happening.

I was drowsy, and sullen. My heart would race when I talked, and my mind would revisit the past, desperate but unable to change it. I turned to anger, because it was easier than the opposing option.

Though recently, I’ve realized I don’t notice the changes anymore. They’ve become a part of me, binding themselves to my heart, tricking my mind into thinking it’s natural.

Many thoughts weave their way into my head, trickling out of the poison.

“Just give up.”

“It’s not worth the effort.”

“Stop caring.”

Despite these words being a part of my daily ritual, my body still continues on. Although whether forwards or backwards, I cannot tell. Half of me cares, and the other half doesn’t.

My heart is dying, and my head is split between two personalities. Fragments of my mind destroy me, while the other parts attempt to assemble themselves back together. The problem is, I’m not allowed to admit to my poison, I’m not allowed to show pain, or confusion. Not allowed to show vulnerability or authenticity.

Because everyone who claims to be “authentic” still hides behind some sort of mask. Still keeps parts of them to themselves, hidden from the world.

I once believed there was no hole deeper, no memory more distressing, no choice more disarming than death.

But I suppose even bedrock can be broken if it’s been chipped too many times. Death isn’t the worst thing poison can offer. Sometimes, it only has to slowly deteriorate an organism to be effective.