A moment in a schizophrenic mind.
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"I will always be here," a voice whispers within my own mind.
I clamp my eyes closed and shake my head trying to rid myself of that voice. That voice that will never truly be gone. That voice that belongs to me.
A hand moves over my back and I cringe. "You're not real," I speak out into the emptiness of the room.
"You know how real I am," that voice whispers to me again.
I find myself reaching for a bottle of little white pills. My hands are shaking uncontrollably and I struggle to free the sweet medicine within. The top finally pops open and a few pills escape onto the floor, but I am unconcerned with them at this point. I tap a few out of the bottle into my hand, two or maybe three, and throw them into the back of my mouth. I don't bother to fetch some water and with a hard swallow I force the pills down a dry throat. They leave a pasty, bitter taste in my mouth but to me ... to me it is a sweetness like no other. These little candies keep the voice at bay.
I sit on the floor and wait for the effects to come. "Why do you push me away so?" that voice speaks a little louder now. It knows soon it will be sent back to its prison. "You could never survive without me."
I scratch at the back of my neck, my nails breaking the skin. It was the pain I needed. It helps sometimes to quiet the voice.
I feel hands on my back again and I can't help but look back over my shoulder. It looks just like me, but nothing like me. Those eyes are empty and dead most of the time. Other days they are sad and distant. It smiles a cold and dead smile and places both hands on my neck. "We are one in the same you know. We share the same body and the same soul," it speaks lowly, its voice becoming distant and echoed. The pills are beginning to pull it away and I feel it tighten its grip on my neck. "Why won't you end our suffering," its voice is almost nothing more then a whisper now. "A knife," it releases my neck and I close my eyes. I don't want to see it anymore. I don't want to hear what it has to say. It is so hard not to do as it begs so often for me to do. "Your wrists. Do it, please, and we will be rid of this life."
Hot tears streak down my face. Is it gone? I don't hear it anymore. I open one eye and look around. It is gone finally and I feel exhausted. The pills, they make me sleepy. I curl up on the floor and let dreamless sleep come over me. I hope it is in a better mood tomorrow.