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Overdose

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So funny... so funny. 

Demons hunted my psyche, and it was difficult, from this cloudy perspective of a simple teenager in his lowest moment, to pinpoint a specific point from which I... simply began to decay as a human being to a point that I feared would not return. 

It was difficult to know so many things by this point. What point? I sometimes wondered, and a certain voice tended to wait for the point to be final. 

Why are you waiting? Who are you waiting for? 

For nothing. 

For no one. 

I let the drops be diluted in alcohol, at least thirty. The little jar contained nine hundred and I was about to finish it, in less than a month... 

I raised the crystal glass and detailed the sun filters that pierced through the window through the garden in the middle of the morning, passing through the translucent glass where medicine was lost slowly and boringly. 

And when that diaphanous substance settled on the base, I drank ignoring the bitter tone of death, hoping that this was not the antecedent to an overdose. 

I was exhausted. 

I was broken. 

I looked at the time on this tedious kitchen clock, old and noisy with its tick-tock that kept reminding me of the passing of time, and all the shit that meant. 

I had to go to classes.

Dizziness began to rise, and the desired calm saturated the putrefaction I carried as a soul. The ideas of an end, the despair, the anxiety were diluted like blood in a river, and only a state of complete saturation of nothing awaited me. 

I stood, my hand clinging to the table in the sudden absence of my sense of balance. And through the calm, a void settled in my belly. An overdose? 

No... probably not. 

I was afraid of everything... and yet I couldn't feel it. 

I looked for my bag in the middle of my lethargy, holding on to whatever surface was within my reach to avoid falling to the ground. 

My legs shook suddenly, and cold sweat began to cover my back as I stretched out my hands, I could see nothing but the tremors that ran through them. 

Overdose.

Overdose.

It Shouted some side not yet extinct of my reason. 

I ignored it. 

I managed to get to the living room, take my backpack and... I couldn't stop the tremor, nausea going up my throat... but it felt good in turn. Calm, dizzy... like the product of a night of drinks in a matter of minutes. 

I ignored it. 

I was exhausted. 

" Pumpkin, your medicine, did you take it?" said a voice, my mother, coming down the stairs still in her robe, nudity probably under the cloth, profaned by some guy who would have left the house in the middle of the night like the sneaky thief it was. Thief of dignity. 

" Yes" I managed to murmur controlling my tone, looking to reach the door. 

And out of nowhere my palpitation became so real, so slow... descending and hitting hard at the same time, slow and strong, slow and strong... I felt it up to my throat, like fists looking for my reaction. 

Should I ask for help? 

No. 

I stumbled before reaching the knob. And she didn't notice, she never noticed. 

I opened the door and cold knocked. Without taking a coat or gloves, by my own sedation, I only left the place. The ice falling in the form of flakes did not matter, and the wind blowing if it was just a stimulus to produce something in my complexion. Everything was asleep, and my heart, descending its beat, entered that fringe of slow arrhythmia.

And I walked. My eyes fixed on the ground, too abstracted in my dizziness to notice anything else.

Why did I do it? Feel at the edge of the void in search of a possible fall.

And it only took half an hour or forty-five minutes for the medicine to be out of reach of any stomach lavage, any attempt at vomiting and laxative. 

If I didn't do anything to try to correct some of what I did in that time, then I would be out of reach of any hand. 

That was fine. 

Was it okay? 

I just kept walking. 

I don't know when I reached the stop. 

Lost in thoughts that under no sedative would cause me a terrible pain, my memories went back and forth among my failed delusions of grandeur, among my self-deceptions to elude the reality of my.... fallacious existence. And in this turbulent calm I could dissect my life, among those fragments that seemed to shatter through my skin as if that were its only reason for being. 

Voices came from these dolls that once, in a distant childhood, filled me with compliments to make up for the absence of them in my daily context... but they ceased to exist at some point; and nothing supplanted reality. Ideas lay in my head... brilliant, to fulfill whatever desire my Machiavellian being might have; but they failed, again and again and again and... And people approached, to discover a beast behind the curtain, to walk away disappointed from a creature with whom, in their life, they could handle. 

No one could deal with me. 

Not even me sometimes. 

And eventually loneliness came. Only in a world where I didn't understand.... because it was fractured. 

This companion arrived with whom I studied each grade. I think it was him; my sight was too blurry to see anything beyond the snow, I could only discern an orange hood. 

And the half-hour had not yet passed. 

He didn't talk to me, no one had talked for so long. They just... decided that they were tired, I decided that too. 

Then another... and kyle. 

The only thing we shared at this point was the bus stop. 

I took out my cell phone to distract myself in something while they talked, words that were lost in a strange and twisted symphony of meaningless sounds. 

And my gaze couldn't focus on the screen, I just ran my finger for... something, just enjoying the intoxication that washed over my insides, that was getting further and further away from being repairable. 

Overdose. 

My mind screamed... 

I ignored it. 

"Are you all right?"  I breathed, I had forgotten to breathe for a second, and suddenly, I was more aware of my breathing than anything else in the world. 

I turned to the voice, a diffuse image of... kyle, reddish hair, that horrible ushanka of the tone of dirty snow and... his pale complexion. 

"Sure" i answered, and didn't know if it was the right answer, dragging the word like a dead prostitute through some forest "yes... i am" i tried to correct my speech by returning to the cell phone "get away Jew, you're going to catch me lice, and then they're going to want to claim my head as Israeli territory" i babbled. 

He remained silent. Silence that made me uncomfortable in spite of being what I wanted. 

"Just ignore him" I heard one of his friends far away, the first one who arrived said nothing, maybe murmuring something against the fabric of his coat, as if I cared. 

He approached me, I tried to back up but the movement forced me to hold on to the stop signal because of the dizziness, nausea still remaining between my chest and my throat. 

"You don't smell like alcohol..." 

"And you smell like fucking kosher, but we can't all choose our aromas" I tried to say, I think I said... I don't know if the whole sentence came from my lips. I looked for him but everything around my iris darkened, soon I had only a tunnel view in front of me. 

Sweat went down despite the absence of a thick coat, and my hands were frozen, I knew it from the purple tone of my fingers but I couldn't feel it and... my palpitations kept going down, waiting to stop at some point. 

Soon, all I could think about was not to stop breathing. 

I counted the minutes, it wasn't too far to the half hour, maybe about ten ... 

"There's something wrong with him" and he started talking like I wasn't there, and surely I wasn't, I was too high for all this shit. 

The bus was approaching. 

And the noise started to distance itself, I could only eventually hear a beep, running through my ears. The voices ceased to exist, and the world began to fall. 

And what was so curious about this whole situation? 

That the only thing that was probably real was dizziness and arrhythmia, the rest?... no more than deliriums of fear appeased by drugs. 

I was afraid. 

And how could I not? 

I was dying. 

Was I dying? 

I was going to get on the bus when it stopped, not even knowing when I had done it. But as I tried to climb one hand, he dragged me. I saw his friend's lips move, the other following along the bus aisle, and the bus started after it, leaving me behind... and Kyle. 

I looked at him, I wasn't eager to talk, I wasn't eager for anything. Just to give in. He moved his lips, and his expression twisted strangely. 

"What's wrong with you? Fucking talk," he demanded, his tone breaking through that barrier of cloudness. 

 

Overdose. 

 

Overdose. 

 

Overdose. 

 

"Overdose" finally pierced the word my mind, and its orbs opened up like two beautiful jade gems, round and tanned from these striations of lighter tones, of an emerald tone and... He was soon pulling me along the street. I just kept stumbling, wobbling, his hand clasped to mine. And for a moment I thought of the last time I had felt any kind of physical contact with another human.  It felt strange. And finally the cold of my fingers made sense, between the warmth of his gloves... and as something that realizes its existence through the existence of another something of a completely opposite nature; like cold and heat; kyle was the only person who made me self-conscious. 

It was strange... 

Like living in a world of shadows, where everything lacks any sense for its very similarity to me ... only me, only me; But he was so different from everything else, that his very existence was a reminder of everything I lacked. 

I was delirious. Maybe, but I didn't care. 

"You are perfect," I muttered as I followed him, snow hitting my face, lightly, everything turning into a tunnel saturated with his image in front of me. Maybe he said something, maybe not. 

"You are everything... on the side of nothingness" I continued feeling my chest breaking... 

No, no no no no no... the downturn should not occur in the middle of the ride , keep me elevated just a little bit more, don't break me, don't let me fall... not yet. 

"Like light... or heat, like... Like... everything that everyone lacks. A something that contains so many good things that is intoxicating and... your very existence therefore poisons me" the verbiage product of my deliriums gave free rein to feelings as deep as the abyss of my own existence. I always took drops before going to study, at least thirteen to deal with anxiety... clonazepam at the order to appease any unnecessary unfolding of life. Maybe increasing the dose wasn't a good idea, I couldn't even control myself anymore. 

"And... I hate you so much for that..." a laugh left my lips, and as if it were life, the breath left me for a second "and I worship you so much for that".  

With each step breathing became more and more impossible. 

"There is no antidepressant that... that makes me forget how unattainable you are..." my gaze was placed in his hand on mine, just before everything around me gave way to his existence, before a tiredness that surpassed me "And it hurts too much" 

An irremediable dream filled me, or maybe I fainted... 

And everything became... peaceful. 

 


 

So funny... trying pointlessly to discern that line where life fractures. 

So funny... try to point with the index finger the causes of the decomposition of my mind. 

So hilarious... having to resort to nice words and medicines to lessen the pressure that reality generates on the soul. 

So curious... so many things just to keep in mind... 

 

What did he think? What did he say? I had forgotten my limits within a social structure for quite a while. What else did it all matter? I didn't even know for sure how to behave properly anymore. Never in my life did, after all. 

My childhood was a placid bubble, sometimes reflecting an unpleasant reality that I decided to ignore. But... the bubble would have to burst at some point, if not by my hand, by someone else's. And when it broke; I could see nothing but a pathetic character, wrapped in comfortable lies and skillful masks, to cover his deficit of attention and self-esteem, his broken capacity to make any empathic human contact, and his broken capacity to even be a human. 

I opened my eyes. A white, boring, dull roof... reflecting the light that went through a window of translucent curtains received me. I found myself with the distant sound of my signs translated into beeps, the constant pain of something in my wrist when I try to move it, the pull of a needle inserted through my vein, held up with ribbons and so on, from which a long tube giving off to one of those bags of... serums? I wouldn't know how to say it.... 

The smell of hospital, strange, unpleasant and... just weird. And the absence of life around me. 

I was alone. 

I would always be alone. 

I remembered, it didn't take me long. 

 

Overdose. 

 

Sure. 

And Kyle . Damn... Why did I go to the bus stop?  The forest would have been more consistent with my purposes. But who thinks clearly when you're just looking to pass the time? Was that all I was looking for? It was hard to describe. I didn't have a clear goal, just an overwhelming sense of boredom, and something that would put an end to that state. 

It was night, and my consciousness still weighed like a thousand bricks as I watched outward the artificial lights of an orange shade running through walls through the fissures of the curtains. The distant transit, the movement of silent steps through corridors and blurred words between white walls and machines... and yet everything was so silent. 

The door opened then, a figure advanced and I decided to ignore it too exhausted of everything; of my failed attempt, of my future stay in some psychiatric center to 'stabilize' me, of the thousand medicines to regulate my emotional instability... therapy, loneliness, existence.... 

What difference does it make what day it was, what difference does it make if my mother found out... what difference does it make if I missed school? What difference did it make? 

I assumed at first that it was some nurse, but it took a seat in a piece of furniture in front of the bed. And I kept silent waiting for... I don't really know. 

Maybe I slept a little longer, maybe I looked at him after a while. Time was distorted sometimes, it was strange. 

And in the darkness little white hands rested around a cup of some hot liquid, the lips of which blew from time to time before drinking in small, silent sips. She wasn't my mother, she wasn't so tall... Or he... ?. 

Perhaps he didn't notice it because of the darkness, that I had woken up; but I saw his face go towards his cup and the monitor of signs from time to time, then the window and his cell phone in which more time passed. And after finishing the drink he only slept for a while. 

 

Kyle. 

 

I smiled at the irony. 

The only one who had been able to notice something strange... everything that I was not, or that I would never be; my antithesis, the light against my blackness and... Why did it hurt so much to see him? Because of that. When the darkness beheld the light, did it envy his inability to be independent of the light? But we weren't black and white, just individuals who agreed on a time frame and... and yet I felt like that nothingness, before its everything. And with time the jealousy gives way, and there remains this stage of contemplation, then appreciation and even adoration; but... to adore something with which your very nature prevents you from coexisting, is extremely frustrating. 

 

Yet here we were, in the same room. 

 

So strange. 

 

"Ky" my voice flowed broken and sore in its disuse. He gave a brief jump in place by waking from a clearly light sleep. He mused my name in surprise, and got up almost immediately, moving around my bed. 

"God, we must call the doctors to tell ..." 

"No." 

"No?" 

"What are you doing here?" The surprise on his face turned into sudden frustration. 

"What am I doing here?" 

"I don't think Wagner would have sat on the bed of a dying Nietzche waiting for him to wake up" I referred to the knowledge of that boring philosophy class a few days ago that we had attended... or a few weeks? HE let go of a breath of complete disbelief. 

"I don't have a reason" 

"No?" I felt the presence of anxiolytics in my acting.  I was briefly sedated. 

"Or maybe I have them... But what does it matter?" there was some degree of confusion on his face. 

"To me it sure is important..." I tried to reason. He smiled at the expression very probably grammatically incorrect... or nonexistent, or strange. 

"Why did you do it" and the question of the year, which I would probably be answering to psychologists and psychiatrists over the next few weeks. 

"I don't know" he nodded silently, solemnly, simply accepting the answer. I arched my eyebrows in curiosity, for lack of his. It didn't bother me. 

"It doesn't matter"

"It doesn't matter?" 

"There is no right answer to this situation, at least not on my part unfortunately. My role in your life is too small" he spoke, a curiously melancholy smile running through his lips "Do you even consider me your friend?" A low breath left my lungs slow and inharmonious, bursting the delicacy of his voice, the silence of the place

"Have we ever been?" he kept silent before the estate, his gaze fixed on mine and then wandered, as suddenly lost, between the needle in my wrist, the sign reader... and my face in general.... 

"Not really," he finally answered after a while, his hands earlier in his pockets leaving them to go into the serum pocket and accommodate it in one smooth movement. "But you can't blame me for that." 

"No" the fault was mine, after all. 

I guess that's what growing up to a certain degree meant, just realizing that not everything revolves around you. And hell, for a childhood in which that was the central estate, decentralizing that absolute truth resulted in unnameable havoc on my head... it was just, then, the result of a broken child, who discovered it perhaps too late, perhaps too soon. Anyway, there's never a right time to know you're a piece of shit. 

I closed my eyes, trying to wake up from this unreasonable situation, which seemed like a dream. Nothing happened. 

"You walked away" I heard his voice in the gloom of my eyelids, soft and smooth. 

"Or I was pushed away, it's hard to tell sometimes" everything was. At this point, I felt I was living in a truly uncertain world; like a fog of hopelessly diffuse shadows. To focus on something certain was simply impossible for me... My only certainty to some degree was him; and it wasn't even one I wanted to see. 

"Before you fainted you said some things" 

"Probably" didn't remember much after I got to the stop. He was silent. 

"You don't remember" I denied in my place, the dream weighing on my closed eyelids. Then there was only silence. And I only slept. I think. 

I heard his footsteps in the background, go back to the seat in front of the bed, maybe he went back to sleep, maybe he decided to press that nurse button to confirm my situation or... he just watched me in silence while I rested, taking care, as the only one who saw me about to vanish into thin air, not to vanish me this time completely. 

 

In a blink sometimes life could go, and there would be nothing but impotence left behind. But who would feel impotence for me? Something told me that even my mother wouldn't do it. And I deserved it. The thought weighed enough to force me to open my eyelids once more amidst tears that fell on their own, without my consent... traces of an already shattered being. What a nuisance. I was still the same crying child I used to be, or maybe I was just pretending... I didn't know so many things, it was exasperating. 

And Kyle was still there, uncomfortable in that seat, sleeping with this slight tedium on his face. A whimper of mine got stuck in my throat, and I did my best to let it go unnoticed, but I failed. 

His eyelids rose slowly to the sound, and as the only one who had claimed the title of 'caretaker', he rose from the seat to confirm my situation. 

He moved to the side of my bed. 

"Are you all right?" 

"Do I look all right?" 

"No..." I tried to raise my hands to dry those damn mental poverty stains, but the right was tied to the bed with that horrible needle on my wrist, and the left felt as heavy as a stone. He noticed my clear discomfort, letting out a sigh to look for something in his pockets, a handkerchief. And in an almost solemn silence he wiped my tears with the care proper of a mother. 

God, this was strange. 

And it hurt. 

"I'm not your enemy," he muttered. 

"No? 

"No. 

"Neither my friend" 

"Neither" and kept the handkerchief, watching me in silence. His lips closed in a thin line, as if containing a thousand and one words. 

"What are you, then?" His gaze dropped to the ground in doubt. 

"Right now... a pillar. I guess" I smiled reluctantly. 

"A single pillar cannot hold a ruined building" his brow frowned shortly. 

"At least a part of it, yes, enough to keep even a single piece standing." 

" What for?" 

"To keep it from falling." 

"Why?" 

"Because falling hurts," he replied childishly, smiling at his own stupid answer. I didn't smile back. 

"And if I want to fall," he shrugged. 

"Too bad, because this pillar will always remain unchanged." 

"What a selfish pillar then, surely it is Jewish" he chuckled slightly at the comment. My eyebrows arched in surprise at the lack of anger. 

"It is" and we kept silent, while his handkerchief, guided by delicate fingers, ran gracefully around my cheeks again, by renewed tears of sensations without name "You said some things before...".

"I don't remember" Kyle clicked his tongue. 

"I know but... they were important" 

"Oh, yeah?" and soon his hand covered mine for some reason, making sure the touch didn't brush medical instruments. I searched for his gaze, confused, the darkness obscuring the emerald of his eyesuhj , the light completely absent from his face... only a shadow over me approached and... lips touched in an irremediable tragedy. I couldn't move, I couldn't really react while my chest collapsed in a thousand and one emotions whose names didn't materialize before disappearing in a void that grew with every second of profane contact. 

And I only looked at his closed eyelids, this uninterruptible calm on his face translated into a caste and static kiss that could well last for the rest of eternity, and still feel infinitely short. He moved away and the emptiness in my being overwhelmed me. 

 

So cold. 

 

"I don't like you" murmured at last after separating, his gaze determined, lit in fire as always when it was his "Not at all..." I knew it. I knew it. It wasn't my center, it wasn't the reason why my being was revolting in an incessant self-disdainment... just one more reason. It still hurt. 

His fingers, after leaving the handkerchief somewhere on the sheets, slid cold along my cheeks. 

"But it is curious... how the possibility of your non-existence hurts like hell," he smiled with this hint of disgust, more to himself than to anyone else. I tried to move my face away from his touch, but his hand only followed my skin, like an insect attracted by a source of light.  "And here, sitting in front of a possible corpse I could only think..." he muttered "... Think of a world without you..." he bit his lip, his thumb moving strangely towards my own lips "... And it was so... so boring" I smiled distantly "It can be selfish of me... to crave your existence by my side constant and inert, even though I will never give you anything in return, only for my simple satisfaction". 

"And I'm the cruel one" 

"I never said it... You're not."

"I know." 

"But I'll keep you in the veil" 

"You're already doing it." 

"Sorry..." 

"It doesn't matter." 

"it matters. it fucking matters" frustration, out of nowhere, bathed his face  "I could give you what you want from me, if you stay here... just... mine, but not mine and... Sorry" 

"I've never asked for more than that" I spoke after a while of silence. 

"No... and here you are, after an overdose." 

"Yes, I missed a few more drops... what a mistake" I joked trying to smile. He frowned almost immediately "Just leave me alone, you fucking Jew" insulted in vain, rude words falling into a bottomless bag.

Soon both of his hands covered my cheeks, and he leaned over me, his forehead rubbing against mine. 

"I need you... But not like you need me" and he planted a second kiss preventing me from moving "But if it takes pleasing your needs to keep you with me... I will," he muttered against my lips. 

 

Overdose. 

 

Overdose of medicines, of life... of his lips and his pity, so intoxicating and painful. He didn't help me, and yet my body responded, longing to feel it once again. Damn it. 

"Fine"

" Forgive me" murmured kyle just before a third kiss "Forgive me" and repeated after a fourth "Forgive me" continued after a fifth while, for the thousandth time my eyes flooded uselessly, unstoppable ... 

It hurt so much, and it poisoned me... and yet... I needed more. And I didn't know which overdose to regret more. Thirty drops of clonazepam, or the empty rubs that meant nothing to him, but the world to me.