this is part one of a short story im writing on wattpad, i feel like posting it on here, although its probably going to be deleted bc of the content. oh well. [maxwell's point of view] Sometimes to stay alive, you gotta kill your mind. I slammed the door of my car shut, fumbling around in my pocket for my keys. I jogged up to the front porch, carefully trying to balance the bags and their contents in my hands. Beer bottles in one, pills in the other. I knew I shouldn't be doing this, but by now, I was used to it. As soon as I got into my small apartment, I placed the bags in the kitchen and took a quick look around this sad place I call 'home'. Beer bottles were scattered all throughout the place, empty pill bottles alongside them. It was truly pathetic. But by now, I was used to it. This is the only way I can numb myself, take myself away from reality. It wasn't much, but it was good enough for me. At first, I was scared to try these things. Your parents always warn you about drugs and alcohol, telling you it'll ruin your life. And to be frank; it ruined mine. But by now, I was used to it. I plopped myself down onto my old, worn out couch and let in a deep breath. And as soon as I shut my eyes, my mind was set free, free to wonder. Look at how pathetic I've become. And it's true, theres no denying it. I've let a small little heartbreak take over my mind, slowly engulfing me into a world of hatred and sadness. But by now, I was used to it. But was I really? Was I really used to all the voices in my head constantly screaming at me, pointing out every little flaw I have? Did I really think that by now it was normal for me to slowly kill myself with booze and drugs? Was it even considered normal to be this lost in your own sadness? Considered normal to constantly be saddened by the hours ahead? Dreading to even wake up in the morning? As far as I know, that is not normal whatsoever. Being normal is being able to actually go outside without having a panic attack. Being normal is being able to sleep peacefully at night, not staring at the ceiling for the entire night. Being normal is being able to close your eyes without voices screaming in your head, pointing out every little flaw. I stood up slowly, placing my forefinger on my temple. I could feel my pulse just from that, beating slowly and steadily. But not for long, I could assure you that. I walked over to the kitchen where I previously set the bags containing the pills. Hesitantly, I picked up the bags, and walked back to the couch. I sat down once again and opened the first one, pulling out a small bottle. I flicked off the cap, taking a quick swig from the alcohol. I could already feel the warm sensation clouding my mind, taking me a step closer to numbness. Next, I opened the other bag, the one containing the pills. Slowly and cautiously, I poured out the bags contents onto the coffee table aside me. It's been awhile since the last time I did this, and I couldn't help but smile at the sight of the small colored pills. I took four or five and placed them into my hand, popping them into my mouth one at a time. This was the start of another night, another stupid, endless night.
