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Survivors of the working class

September 20, 2013

Sweaty, shaking, I’m on my back, home from work. It shouldn’t be so emotionally draining to make it through a simple work week, but it is. My mind has endured the mental version of a marathon, doing its best to complete this endurance challenge. More and more, my anxiety gets the best of me, driving me to keep focus on every little task.

Am I breathing to loud? Am I walking okay? How does my voice sound? Do I feel like me?

In silence, in my apartment, alone, the ringing in my right ear from a concert last Saturday night persists. A high pitch with gradual decay, I try to block that noise out, but relent after I conclude that the mental energy required to ignore the ringing is more than I have left in me to spare.

I reach for a few prescription bottles, glancing at the labels. Digging an into the orange container labeled Sertraline, I pull 2 oval pulls from the bottle, snapping one between my index finger and thumb. With a mouthful of Diet Coke, I take the whole pill along with one of the halves and choke them down along with a circular pill from the bottle labeled Spironolactone and another from the bottle of alprazolam.

I rest my head back, allowing the ringing to take my complete attention, and I drift off to sleep with hope of finding the strength to survive another work week.

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One Response to “Survivors of the working class”

  1. doubleinvert Says:

    HUGS


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