No Longer Myself

    Whether you want to realize it or not everything you do affects me. When you ignore me for days and even weeks in a row, it hurts. I don’t do well in school and I seclude myself and withdraw from people. I don’t like to hang out with my friends anymore because I’m constantly on the verge of tears and every time they mention nascar or Tennessee or use a fake southern accent to make a joke funny I’m not on the edge anymore. I’ve just jumped right off without a parachute.
    They don’t care about you. They ask me what’s wrong and I just say Richard and they know exactly what I’m talking about. “Oh, is he not talking to you again,” damn they got it right on the nose. But they don’t care. “Just forget about him he’s an asshole and he’s too old anyway.” I don’t care if you’re old. Doesn’t make a bit of difference to me. But I can’t hang out with them because they don’t understand.
    I can’t be with my friends so I go home. I can’t be around my family so I go upstairs. I turn on my music. Tim McGraw,
          “You always had an eye for things that glittered,
          but I was far from being made of gold.
          I don’t know how but I scraped up the money,
          I just never could quite tell you no.
          Just like when you were leaving Amarillo,
          taking that new job in Tennessee.
          I quit mine so-”
    Richard lives in Tennessee. And here come the tears. So I turn off the music and turn on the TV. TLC, a wedding story, no. MTV, engaged and underage, no. GSN, to tell the truth, no. TBS, everybody loves- what the fuck?
    And the tears keep flowing so I turn off the TV. I grab some candy from my little stash but all that’s left is some chocolate for Sheila. I hate chocolate. Whatever I eat it anyway. That doesn’t help. Now all I’m doing is eating while I’m crying.
    What else can I do? There’s still some sleeping pills left. I think about 12 actually. Yes, and that’s exactly what I can do. I grab the bottle of Snapple off my TV where it always sits and I reach under my mattress and grab for the pills. The tears subside a little as I choke them down four at a time, gagging after each big gulp. All 12 down. Its only 10:00 so I should be fine tomorrow morning. No worries at all as I lay down and wait for these magic little pills to get to work.  I close my eyes and after about maybe 15 minutes I stop crying completely.
    Half an hour later and I’m flying through the air. I hear an orchestra. Its not playing Beethoven or Mozart. Its playing music so beautiful, it’s playing music I’ve never heard before, that nobody’s ever heard before. I become entranced by this unconducted orchestra sitting in my bedroom, playing specially for me.
    A little while later I become bored by the music and I open my eyes. I stare at the ceiling. It appears to be breathing, like at the doctor’s office when they tell you, “Take a big breath in, and now out, and in…”
    What happened to the rice crispies I was just eating?
    The walls are undulating as if there are little colonies of ants underneath the paint. There’s a man behind one of them trying to get out. I can see where his fist is pounding into the wall. Bang, bang, bang. I want to help him but I don’t know how so I just let him stay there, behind the blue paint covering my wall.
    Wait a minute am I orange?
    I look to the left and see the shadows of two lovers kissing each other tenderly. How sweet I think to myself. I see myself get up off the bed and walk over to the other side of the room. I take some clothes out of my burrow and walk out of the room, probably to the bathroom to get changed. It doesn’t even occur to me that I am still on my bed and couldn’t possibly be walking to the bathroom.
    Why are my fingernails so hard?
    I’m starting to shake and I feel sick now. I want to get up and go to the bathroom, but I cant. My legs are made of jello, jello with a mind of its own. And my arms are useless sacks of flesh and bone that wont do what I tell them to. My window’s right here I wont even have to get up. So I turn to my window and I see a two-foot tall bat with glowing red eyes sitting outside looking in at me. There’s a cloud of bees around him furiously trying to fly into my room hitting the window making sounds like hailstones. I’m not so sure of how much of this is real, but I’m not about to take my chances.
    I roll back over and throw up. I throw up on my sheets, on my pillows, and on myself. I can’t get up so I stay there.
    I close my eyes and listen to the music. I listen to my heart pound and murmur, slightly off beat. I don’t think of you. No, because I am not Meghan anymore. I am no longer the good girl who cares and gets straight As. I am not the girl you met that night. I don’t care about anyone else anymore. I’m a small time drug dealer grinding up sleeping pills and selling them as acid. I make $100 profit for every bottle I sell. Then I buy ten more bottles. And I don’t care about love anymore. I’m not Meghan anymore, I’m Sunny now.