I stared at the pills in my hand, my mind racing with conflicting emotions. After what felt like an eternity, I made a decision. I grabbed the keys and left the house, unaware that the sun had set.
The hours blurred together as I sat in the same spot, my gaze fixed on the pills. Why was I so obsessed with them? Was it a sign? I laughed wryly, the sound tinged with melancholy.
I finally stirred, heading to the convenience store. The familiar background music greeted me as I entered. I picked up a notebook, some frozen food, fruits, and bread, my movements mechanical.
As I put away the groceries, my eyes kept drifting back to the notebook. I wasn't interested in writing, but I felt compelled to do so. After a half-hearted attempt at cooking, I settled into my routine.
Every day, I took the supplements, twice a day, as instructed. And every night, I wrote down everything that happened, no matter how small. It became a habit, a strange comfort.
A month passed, and I noticed a change. The hallucinations decreased, and Noah's voice grew fainter. My insomnia improved, but at a cost. The nightmares receded, but the pain remained.
As I stared at the empty pill bottle, tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. "Can you believe it?" I whispered to the empty room. "Just a month of taking these pills."
The alarm on my phone jolted me back to reality. I had a meeting with Miss Rita, my therapist. I got ready, trying to compose myself. Today's the day I'd confront the truth about the supplements.
The weight of my discovery felt crushing. I was torn between desperation and hope. Miss Rita would know what to do. She had to.