Its been a long time. Sorry, I have just been really busy. I have a real job, I go to school, I am trying to plan a future. Its hard work. All I do in my free time is sleep. Anyways, in english I was asked to write a personal narrative on one moment of my life. I chose the first one that came to mind. I am a little afraid about turning it in, because it is a difficult subject for most people to swallow. I used a few previous entries in my diary to kind of shape it all together, so really is going to be very personal. I am posting the draft, anyone who reads this is required to tell me what they think. Its like four pages long, bere with me? ... The first time I made my mind stop was amazing. This little pill was the answer to all my prayers.And here it ends. I finally felt complete peace, complete silence. The first time is always the best time, after that you have to do more to feel the same. Lie more, steal more, and beg more. The lazy person’s worst nightmare, having to do more of anything. They always say that you can get hooked from the first time, and I never believed them. I had my first time, my second, third, fourth. Soon it became every night, sitting alone in my room, smiling and putting that sumptuous white pill up to my lips, then basking in the euphoria. I’m not addicted, I could quit if I wanted to. I didn’t want to. Night after night I didn’t want to. I looked forward to my time alone with my beloved escape. And of course night after night I had to take a little more to get the same effect. Soon the night came. Swallow those tasty little babies one after another and wallow in your self pity Hollie, wallow and try not to think about tomorrow. I didn’t want to kill myself; I just wanted to be happy. My life had been careening downhill ever since I turned 14, and realized that the world wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. There was going to be pain, anger, and sadness. You wouldn’t have your friends forever; Prince Charming wasn’t going to knock on your door. These simple realizations had sent my little mind reeling with doubts and fears. And here it ends. My terrible day started. Wake up. My head hurts so badly. Put on clothes, and checked the drug drawer. I found the little white pills. Pain Killers, thank god. "Take one every 12 hours," screw it. I took two. Went to school, got excused from third hour and had lunch with my dad. He buys me a chili dog. It was gross. After I got back to school I threw it up, but it’s the thought that counts. Took two more pills. Sluff fourth hour and go to Lee's to get Oreos, which I also throw up. Before school is out I take two more. When I get home I fall asleep. Had a long dream. Can’t remember it. I can’t remember much of what happened the past two days. I don’t like remembering. Bring on the drugs. Brain cells must wither away. I don’t know why I hate me so much. But I do. I need a shower. I can’t think straight sometimes, sometimes I can’t think at all. Saying words that come into my mouth, but I have no idea how they got there. Doing things, and knowing why I am doing them. What do I run on? Who is Hollie? Who is my body, my words, my image? Who am I really? Walk in my house and wonder why I am so familiar with it. I wonder where my life has gone, and why I can only remember a few parts. My memory sucks. Sometimes I catch a wif that reminds me of... something... but I don’t know what that something is. I see something that I have seen before, but I don’t know where, or why, or when or how. And here it ends. I am ready to go now. I pull a huge t-shirt over my thin, bare body. Take six instead of my usual three. Double the dose, double the fun, right? I had stock piled some of these blank, cylindrical medicines for a rainy day. Today was that day. The handful of pills reach my mouth, the cool glass of water. My red heart jumps in excitement, I had been waiting for this all day. Almost instantly the room was swaying and so was I. I made my way to my bed and lay down; it was so soft, so comfortable. The entire universe was tens times better when I did this, everything was better. My mouth lolled open and I stared blankly up at my ceiling. My mind stopped and became almost vegetable, the earth became completely silent and I worshipped it just as silently. It seemed as if nothing could go wrong. The limbs are carefully arranged in the most comfortable position; it would be a shame to waste such a good feeling. My head sinks back into the pillow and my mouth lolls open in an expression of half daze and half pleasure. I dream. In the lonely hours of the night I cry, and hate myself so much I can’t stand it. I beg God to take me away, I beg God to leave me. I remember my mistakes, I try to name my virtues, I wipe my face and tell myself that I am fine, that I will be better, that there is something good waiting for me. I hold myself and rock, and think of what things I could say to make myself believe that I am not suffering, that I am not heartbroken, that I am not confused or weak. I recall the hedonist, the supposed happiness that that entails. Acting on these whims. More mistakes, more stupidity, more reasons to hate myself and hurt myself and scream at myself for being so idiotic. The world turns to water and melts away underneath me, the world turns cold and here it ends. I can’t remember how I found myself hanging over the toilet gagging up bile, but that’s where I was. My stomach had completely emptied itself and wanted to empty more, the bile shot out of my mouth as I struggled to breathe between gags. Finally it stopped; I lay my damp head on the rim of the toilet and pass out. Wish I had a pair of wings to fly away on. If I could fly, I would go to a safe place in the stars where nothing bad happened. I wouldn’t have to worry about anything then. I would not be the person that I was today without any of these bad things. The smoke curls out of the crimson flower and wraps itself around the joyful stars. I would not be as strong, thought true strength is still something I still long for. My soul is screaming, like my body is being split in half, like my heart and mind cannot agree on something. Every perilous minute I am on the edge of a dire fate that I cannot see. I don’t know what to do. It feels so... hard, and so... painful, and so hopeless that I am utterly lost in the raging torrents of emotions within myself. I cannot get out. The river rises and I wash down stream, down to fate that I cannot predict. Down to the future that I cannot see, the future that I dread. And here it ends. When I woke up again I was back in my bed, with my mothers soft warm hands stroking my greasy hair. I looked up into her wet green eyes and told her I was sick. My words still slurred a little. I didn’t talk after that. I think she knew why I was sick, I think she has always known, but I still felt ashamed. She was there when the doctor gave me my first prescription; she told me that I had to be careful. This whole time she had warned me against taking anything, warned me that I could get addicted. She had told me that this is what would happen. And still I feel her long thing fingers combing through my hair, and the image of her sad tears rolling down her tan face is burned behind my eyelids. I roll over and snug myself into a corner of my bed, trying to get as far away from the guilt as I can. My eyes squeeze shut to prevent Guilts dark images to crawl in. My useless body groans as my heart beats, and my cheeks feel the hot, guilty tears roll away. You can never get away from the guilt. The memories, the heartache, and the tears you shed over every stupid mistake. You can only grow. And here it ends.