Chemi
*.✧ Que Sera, Sera ✧.* | 25y/o fem
- Nov 25, 2025
- 264
I swallowed the first Meto pills today.
It's a tiny white pill, but it feels like the first step across a line I can't uncross.
My body is starting to prepare for the SN potion, less than 30 hours away now, and my mind keeps dissociating as I type this.
I don't want to die. God, I don't want to die.
I want to stay long enough to watch the new seasons of the shows that make me forget for an hour, to hear whatever Nirvana-sounding band comes next, to feel the summer sun soak into my skin like forgiveness and the winter wind bite my cheeks until they burn red and alive.
Those moments are real. They're bright and sharp, and they still make my heart flutter.
But they're islands in an ocean of gray.
The rest is this endless, suffocating misery that wraps around my chest and twists my stomach into knots I can't untie.
Breathing feels like pulling air through wet cement, every inhale a reminder that I'm still here, still carrying this weight that never lightens.
I'm so tired of pretending tomorrow might be different.
I'm terrified of going through with it, and I'm terrified of not going through with it.
The SN waits quietly in the drawer, patient and certain, while I sit here drowning in maybe.
I hate this doubt that creeps in like fog, turning certainty into smoke I can't grasp.
It's the endless rollercoaster ride where every turn brings a new feeling I never saw coming, leaving me dizzy and desperate for solid ground.
I'm scared.
I'm excited.
I'm hopeless.
I'm confused.
And I'm so, so tired.
It's a tiny white pill, but it feels like the first step across a line I can't uncross.
My body is starting to prepare for the SN potion, less than 30 hours away now, and my mind keeps dissociating as I type this.
I don't want to die. God, I don't want to die.
I want to stay long enough to watch the new seasons of the shows that make me forget for an hour, to hear whatever Nirvana-sounding band comes next, to feel the summer sun soak into my skin like forgiveness and the winter wind bite my cheeks until they burn red and alive.
Those moments are real. They're bright and sharp, and they still make my heart flutter.
But they're islands in an ocean of gray.
The rest is this endless, suffocating misery that wraps around my chest and twists my stomach into knots I can't untie.
Breathing feels like pulling air through wet cement, every inhale a reminder that I'm still here, still carrying this weight that never lightens.
I'm so tired of pretending tomorrow might be different.
I'm terrified of going through with it, and I'm terrified of not going through with it.
The SN waits quietly in the drawer, patient and certain, while I sit here drowning in maybe.
I hate this doubt that creeps in like fog, turning certainty into smoke I can't grasp.
It's the endless rollercoaster ride where every turn brings a new feeling I never saw coming, leaving me dizzy and desperate for solid ground.
I'm scared.
I'm excited.
I'm hopeless.
I'm confused.
And I'm so, so tired.