My heart is heavy.
When I breathe in, there is something pushing back against me, as if it is trying to prevent me from taking another unsavoury, life giving breath.
When I breathe out, it feels like my whole body tries to leave too, weighing me down as it tries to escape.
My limbs grow heavy, my eyes they close, my will to do anything vanishes. It is as if all my burdens suddenly decide to appear all at once, in a calm, overwhelming feeling where a sweet, sorted confusion is all that remains.
Eventually I give in and sink to the ground or whatever is underneath me, be it a chair or a bed. I sink and would keep sinking were it not for the Earth beneath my feet. On my tongue I taste acid indifference but mixed with two shots of syrupy sadness and a dash of loneliness. A strange combination but one that is all too familiar.
I’m as far into this cocktail as my physical body will take me but my mind keeps drinking away. And eventually I give in and order me another glass. I pay with my heart – heavy, not worth a lot, but just enough to overdose.