sertraline, lorazepam

It’s difficult to see anything but her dark eyes. They swim with a sort of endless depth. If the eyes are the window to the soul, she must be the most complex person I’ve ever met. She has a cute curve to her cheeks, especially with that wide smile. The kind of person you just want to sit up at night whispering with, hushed voices and hidden grins under the covers with a flashlight and a bowl of candy. God. She’s amazing.
Even more amazing than her physical appearance is her remarkable laugh. Our eyes are meeting, and she’s laughter. It isn’t a sweet giggle or an eruption of hilarity, just an amused, almost pained laugh. You can tell she’s holding back. Her eyes crinkle up at the edges and her hand flies to cover her little button nose and cute pink lips. Every time I hear that laugh I just want to hug her, listen to her thoughts spill from her lips. God. She’s amazing.
It begins to dawn on me as I stare into her eyes. Why is she laughing? She glanced at me a second ago. Is the laughing at me? She and her friend are laughing about something. What if it’s me? Terror grips my chest and I feel my legs weakening. I avert my eyes to my desk and clutch my chair with trembling hands. I can’t bear to look up. My limbs are numb in seconds and I can’t breath. I feel my legs sink into the ground as the rest of me floats so high above the clods on wings of agony. I need to die, right now. I need to take control. I need to die. I need to die.
My breathing begins to slow. I can taste the dissolving capsule under my tongue. The medicine seeps into my blood, slowly leaves its blue solid form and reaches its hands into my mind, clutching at my thoughts and calming them. A lot of time passes without any movement but slow, steady breathing intended to stop the pain. I can’t keep doing this, I think to myself. God, why would I even think something like that? It doesn’t make sense. I’m interpreting it all wrong. But damn if anyone but sertraline and lorazepam can tell me that.

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