Well, you asked for it. 

You look down at the bottle of pills in your hand, remembering the last time. The time before that, the time where it almost worked, the time when you almost escaped.

You remember that day both as lucid as possible, and in a blur. Like a dream that you couldn’t get out of your head.

You remember your mother freaking out; you remember your father not knowing what to do.

You remember your best friend friend almost forcing you to call poison control after you got scared.

You remember more things than that, too. You remember the boy in your drama club that you could almost turn straight for, you remember the girls that went to your rival school that seemed to make the world spin.

You remember the thrill of being on stage, you remember the buzz of alcohol and cigarettes on good days.

You remember playing piano, you remember singing along.

You remember falling on snow days and off of double swings.

You remember laughing over the stupidest shit imaginable, like softball and sneezing cats and bad parodies of Les Miserables.

You remember crying over TV shows and characters you love, and you remember books that would always stay with you.

You remember that your life is worth something, and that you’ve changed people for the better. You remember that you’ve fucked up and that you will fuck up, and that you’ve made wonderful things and that you will make wonderful things.

You put the bottle down.

You remember that you have a future.