“You’re going to need these. You know you will.” My cat, Smokey, urged me to take the box. It was big and plastic with a blue cover; One of those totes you can buy at Walmart. Within the box was a variety of chemicals, including acetone and bleach. “Today is the perfect day to do it,” said Smokey. He sat tall on the counter. He was a tuxedo cat who I found in a box on the side of the street a couple years ago. “She’s trying to get rid of us; the sooner she’s gone, the better.” My dog Bruno attempted to convince me otherwise, “Ok, but that doesn’t mean we should kill her.” He walked over to me, wagging his tail happily, looking for some attention. Bruno was a great dane, clumsy, heavy, and goofy looking. I wasn’t sure who to listen to. I couldn’t lose my pets, I can’t keep living like this, but I don’t want to hurt anyone. Smokey and Bruno began bickering, both trying to convince me to listen. I couldn’t take it. Noise filled the room and consumed my brain. I grabbed the neon orange pill bottle and dry swallowed two pills. The thorazine made a slow, scraping descent down my throat. I went to the fridge, attempting to ignore the continuous arguments erupting behind me. The fridge was mostly empty. Orange juice, eggs, leftover lasagne, and various condiments were all a working man needed. I went for the orange juice, straight from the carton. I stopped for a second. The voices vanished. The colors in the room had faded. I hated taking my medication. It made life dull. My therapist said that I needed it. I don’t agree with her, but if i don’t take them i’ll get in trouble again.
Ten hours later, I arrived at my therapy appointment just after my shift at the warehouse. By now I can feel the colors steadily seeping back into my world. When I enter the room I take a seat on her giant, brown, leather couch. She’s seated across from me. Separating us is her expensive, mahogany desk. She recites a list of questions, all of which I answer the exact same every time. However, today felt different. Usually, I’m supposed to take another dose after work, but I felt like I didn’t need it. Her voice became muffled. All I could hear was Smokey’s voice echoing through my head. “Get rid of her.” “She’s making your life miserable.” “She’s trying to take us away.” I look down at my pocket. The box cutter is still there from my shift. All I can hear is Smokey. It won’t stop.
I blacked out. When I come back to reality, she’s on the floor. Lifelessly lying. I’m standing over her, box cutter in hand. What am I gonna do now? At least I didn’t have to take the pills anymore