Nodding off, slipping in and out of consciousness, I don't regret taking more. I wait patiently for my brain to implode and allow myself to reach whatever afterlife awaits me. Hours go on as I stare at the blurry ceiling, I can't stand, I can't talk, but I can still breath through the pills I popped. I just want the uneasy spinning to stop. I puke until my stomach is empty and I can wobble up once more. I fall with every step I take, like a baby learning how to walk. Why did I make things so hard for myself? Why can't I be popular and thin and beautiful in this life?