Day 4

I was dying, or I thought I was. Nights were a blur, pained by migraines or passing out next to broken sink. The medication was running low, plagued by endless amounts of spilled bottles, and overdoses. My job didn’t even want me, apparently losing consciousness while serving food at O’Leary’s Bar wasn’t good with the customers. I didn’t mind though, jobs seemed pointless in a world where you can do anything for money. I knew it became worse when I couldn’t pay for the refill of drugs and I’d wake up screaming in the night where I didn’t want to sleep, cold sweats and an ache running through my head. My life was a mess, my hair was a mess, I was a mess. I opened my eyes. It wasn’t a dream. Shuffling to the door with slow persistence I unlocked my room 391 and let her in, an old woman whose name I didn’t remember. She eyed me up and down, gazing at my slumped posture and bags under my eyes. But she had no pity in hers, only a look of long lost fire. She cleared her throat and smoothed out her long purple cardigan. “Mr. Fitz, I’m giving you by the end of the day today. Pay me or move out. You owe me for three months.” She gave me one last glare and went back through the door.

I didn’t treasure the hard times I had. Instead I began to cry on my bed, and this time they were tears streaming down my face. Giving up wasn’t a dream of mine. I wrote this down on the pad next to me. I was instantly angry at myself, unhappy with the world with me in it. Walking to the liquor cabinet I poured another drink. And another. And another. I was done.  

Day 3

This time it wasn't even close to the morning. I could sense the fatigue that came with the lack of sleep I was getting, and the uncanny bipolar behavior I was having. Black patches would rush against my sight, and I'd lean against a wall and swallow my medication. That's how I made my way down the stairs at 10:23 at night, breathing heavily in a dark hoodie. One step became a mile, and the next few became a centimeter. I wanted my day to start this late because I couldn't walk out of my apartment in the daylight, the scorching sun only increased the visions and passing out that I was accustomed to. I finally reached the bottom, and pulled my way into the night time. Lonely persons such as myself were dragging their feet past the statue in front of them, destined to reach their destination. But all I cared about was the rain, no the aftereffects of the rain. It was humid, the air was  heavy the bench next to me was inviting. I scurried to the wooden bench, pulled by the need to sit and sleep right then and there. I knew I couldn't and swallowed more pills than ever before. Smiling, I rested my head against the back of the long chair and gazed at the stars as my hoodie fell off my head. Some were bright white, others a shade of blue, breathtaking as The Milky Way reached across them, holding them together.  I felt a drop of water slide down my cheek. I wasn't crying.

Day 2

Although my everyday began earlier than average for most people, today was different. The sky opened up for rain around 6 in the morning, and I stared at the window pane for hours, watching the rain drip down the sides of the crackled paint. I couldn’t stop thinking of how I was going to get past eight days of no sleep. Today was the fourth. I blinked, pulling my eyes away from the heavy shower of rain and stretched. Sadly, the work I dreaded and feared called upon me. Find a new job, the meds aren’t good enough to help undepress this one. I finished writing it down as I heard a knock at the mahogany door covered in its own mass amounts of yellow notes. I ruffled my hair and walked to the opening, slipping a white tank over my head. I gingerly opened it, a slight squeaking were made by the hinges. I poked an eye through the crack, examining the man in front of me. He only gave me a slight up down and blurted “sorry, wrong door” and moved on. I shrugged and closed the door. I wasn’t certain of many names around this area, but I was certain he was the man who sometimes spoke to himself in the hallway when he thought no one was looking, maybe Josh or Jason? It didn’t matter. When I looked in the hallway however, it did. The olive green walls were stained from recent leaks, and boxes crowded the sides for a recent move. I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t leave just yet.

Day 1

2:43

The day started with the opening of my eyes. It was then that I decided that my day would begin at 2:43 in the morning, sitting in a old creaky wooden chair, surrounded by mass amounts of paper and yellow sticky notes from "yesterday". It wasn't the most luxurious table, mostly round and full of holes from the previous tenant. Given to me for free from the man at the Unk yard. I focused, grabbing a sticky note and wiped my hand down my face, breathing in a sigh as I brushed my dark black hair from my eyes. Sunday: full of potential? More tired than usual. Consult the medication from the mirror cabinet. 2:43am. I placed the sticky note meticulously on the wall, right next to the other 561 pieces of square yellow paper scattered across it. I measured this recently. 8ft high, 7ft long, and 2ft away from my circular "dining room table".

I shuffled to the bathroom and banged my head on the low doorway to my already tight bathroom without (surprisingly) flinching. I don't even try to bend down anymore, its too much work. The bathroom was obviously made for a small toddler, only holding enough room for a broken mirror, a faded pink toilet and a sink full of clogged water. It was exhausting to look at, and I didn't appreciate it even if some had it worse than me. I then stopped in front of my reflection and held a gaze with myself. Each eye was hazel, grey and yellow, seemingly like a dusty cloud storm in the desert. And  each strand of my hair was raven black, and my skin was still dull and lacking any emotion. I wrote it on my sticky note, set the clock in my bathroom to the correct time, and took my meds. Third day running with no sleep, I thought, grabbing my sticky note again. Third day? Only the beginning to my new personal record. I smiled, the first one in a while, and stuck it in the middle of the dispensable mirror.