For The Sake of Sanity

Is it hard losing a friend even if they're not real?

            He sits beside me on the bed, watching me twist the pill bottle in my hands. The tiny blue pills tumble over one another as I read my name on the white label. I never thought that I’d get to this point. Hearing them rattle in that plastic container brought me back to reality.

            “So you’re starting today?” he asks.

            “I guess so.”

            I continue to stare down at my hands. If he could put a comforting arm around me, he would have. But he sits there, weightless and patient.

            “One in the morning and one at night.”

            “They don’t work immediately.”

            “I know but it’s only a matter of time.”

            “It’s for the best.”

            I finally bring myself to look at him. He’s still ageless after all these years. In that moment I wanted to hold him or be held, to know that he was going to stay with me no matter what. He was my unbreakable friend and my infinite inspiration. He was everything that no one else could be for me.

            I could have hidden the pills. They were so tiny that I could have easily thrown them away and lied about having taken them. No one would know but me. I could have pretended that they made me sick and refused to continue with them any longer. I could have done anything but swallow them down and accept the consequences, yet I slowly began to unscrew the bottle.

            I heard him take a sharp breath as I pressed down and turned my wrist. I tenderly used my finger to press a single pill against the side and slide it out of the bottle. I held it carefully as I set the bottle aside. He should have handed me the glass of water, looking me in the eyes and letting me know that everything was going to be okay. He should have given me a sign that he truly would be there for me no matter what the situation was. But I reached for the glass myself and he turned away.

            I set the pill on my tongue and raised the glass to my lips. I felt his eyes return to me. I knew that they were wide and sad; I knew that a frown was playing at his face.

Now, I thought to myself.

I took a drink and swallowed the pill. I sat for a moment, feeling it go down my throat and into my body, ready to begin its work. This process would be slow. I would turn and still see him beside me and like always I would not be able to put my hand on his. He’d still be real to me for a little while at least. This would be painful.

            “We still have plenty of time together.”

            I didn’t believe him. I wondered if it would have been easier if he had disappeared on the spot. How would I have felt if he had just gotten up and walked away forever? Would it be easier than watching him fade over those next few weeks? Would it be easier than waking up each morning, seeing him becoming less and less of the beautiful reality he once was? Would it be easier than calling his name and not seeing him come to me? I do not know. The doctor would surely be happy with my progress. I only feel as though I’ve lost a part of me. I only feel as though I’ve lost a friend.