I stare at the pills spilled out on the table in front of me. My parents are sitting opposite me. My dad has his arm around my crying mother. It’s the first time I’ve seen them in months. I never thought I’d see them like this when they finally remembered they had a kid.
Neither of them can look at me, and I don’t want to face them. So I look at the small white pills, a shiny contrast to the rough-hewn wooden table. It’s easier for us that way.
Broken. That’s how my father sounds. He’s broken. Heartbroken, soulbroken, ripped apart from the inside out.
I can’t answer. I don’t have an answer. Not one they’d understand. Mom and Dad have always had a persevering outlook on life. Get through this and things will be better. That’s their mindset.
It’s not mine. I’m the sort who sees the darkness hidden in the light and I latch onto it. I’m a shadowgirl, and my shadow is getting darker by the day, as I slowly detach myself from life. I’m dissolving into darkness.
Two pills. That’s all it takes.

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