1 minute read
DEAR SAMMY,
It’s been four days since I saw the sun. And before that, the only kind of light I had last week were those harsh fluorescent monsters that won’t let you sleep no matter how tired you might be. You know the ones. The kind you find in hospital rooms. The kind that leaves no shadows for hiding . . .
I can’t seem to find the energy to crawl out from under the covers. I told Mom I might have the flu, but I don’t think she’s buying it. She hung up my graduation gown on the back of my bedroom door so it’s the first thing I see (and the last thing I see) and I hate her for it.
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And you.
Low blow, I know, but I don’t want to do this without you here. That first day last week when I refused to come out for dinner, Dad snuck in while I was sleeping and put this journal on my nightstand. I know I skipped last month and I’m sorry. There’s a lot to say right now and it’s hard to find the words, but I’m trying.
It’s a screwy situation because my therapist says writing should be encouraging or uplifting or whatever, but sometimes all I feel is guilt instead of the you-can-do-it, you can survive vibe.
When I look at the empty pages it’s hard to see past all the things I’ll never say to you. All the moments we’re never going to have together.
Once I walk across that stage, I will have officially moved on. I can’t.
I just . . . can’t.
and out— Casey Jones
Pressed pills
Pressed for time, life, love
They take it all away
Stealing, always stealing
Time, life, love.
You swallow them down, one by one
Two by two
Until you can’t count anymore.
They sell you a belief that you’ll find relief
Off those pressed pills
But you’ll only find they are the source of your pain
Dragging you under until you drown.
You swallow them down, one by one
Two by two
Until you can’t breathe anymore.
They’ll leave you lying on the floor
Dying, while your survivors cry why?
You’re giving them nothing in return but
Pressed pills
Pressed for time, life, love
They take it all away
They took you away.
You swallowed them down, one by one
Two by two
Until they were the only thing left . . . of you.
