The bright morning sun shines unwelcome through the tattered blinds. Dust, stirred up by my slightest movement wafts though the violent beam of sunlight. I lay on my back, eyes closed, cracked fingernails digging into my scalp as I force my rough palms into my eyelids to block out the world. My half naked body, coated with sweat begins to chill. I crack open my left eye just long enough to grab the dirty sheet off the floor beside my bed. I sweep the thin cloth over my body and roll over, curling into a ball. My stomach churns, nausea rising like a wave in my abdomen. I want only one thing, but I force the thoughts away. I have to resist.
The pill bottle looms on the nightstand, barely out of reach. The translucent orange tube teases me mercilessly. The delicate white capsules inside will surely bring relief, but not the euphoria I used to seek. I have to stop; I know I must. I roll over, turning away from the bottle as a terrible chill sweeps though every bone in my nearly emaciated body. I haven't eaten a proper meal in days, but still the thought of food nauseates me.
After a few minutes, I slowly sit up and wipe greasy strands of hair out of my bloodshot eyes. With a forced movement I reach around somberly, grasping for the bottle.
I softly say the same words I've uttered daily for the past month.
"Just one more time."