Choice.

A Chapter by Coda.

A drug addict reaches their breaking point.

I had to do this.

Life didn't give me any choice.

I didn't bother opening my window that morning. I didn't wanna watch the people.

I always thought I wanted to be like everyone else in the world. Happy. Carefree.

Now, I knew the truth.

Their happiness was fake. A lie.

There's no way someone can live in this world and smile.

I wasn't sure how I wanted to go.

If I were to hang myself, someone would find me.

My story would be uncovered; my mom would be notified. She couldn't take anymore heartbreak.

If I were to set my apartment on fire, my remains would be destroyed, but the fire could potentially spread.

Was there a way to do this without hurting anyone?

"I could drown myself in acid," I thought.

It'd hurt like all hell, but there'd be no way to identify me.

The only issue was that I didn't know where I'd even get acid.

It seemed like suffocation was the only way.

"How do I even know Mom's still alive?" was the thought I used to justify it.

It was one of the most selfish thoughts I'd ever had, but it was an extremely comforting one.

Eventually, the noose was prepared.

I stood on the chair I had set up, and put the noose around my neck.

I felt my lips curl into a smile.

I couldn't help it.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, I was in control.

...wasn't I?

That's when I began to question everything.

Was this me?

Was I making this choice?

Was I in control, or was it still Anxiety?

Would I do this?

Would I take my own life?

Would I leave my mother to rot?

Would I become hooked on drugs?

Would I shut myself away from humanity?

Who was I?

Why did I stop being myself?

When did Anxiety take full control?

What had I become?

...

That wasn't me.

I had stopped being me a long time ago.

Every thought, every word, every thing I'd done in the past 12 years, had been from Anxiety. The demon that resided in my mind.

I wasn't the child my parents raised.

I was a shell of a human being.

I was a worthless junkie, who's too much of a p***y to fight for control of their own life.

It'd been so long since I'd even heard my own name.

...

Jesse.

Jesse Harrison.

That's who I am.

That's who I'm supposed to be.

Jesse Harrison died at age 13, but it wasn't too late for a revival.

Part of that person was still inside of me.

I just had to fight for it.

Life had given me a choice.

I had to make the right one.

I had to do this.

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