A suicidal teenagers brush with Lady Death.
I could hear the bittersweet cords of the beginning of “Sweet Dreams Are Made of These” by Marilyn Manson coursing through my ears. The dark mood of the song immediately began to take me over. I tossed the empty pill bottle onto my floor and collapsed back onto my bed, my pillow molding to fit my head. I stared up at my pitch black ceiling and listened to Manson singing the theme song to my soul. I could feel myself starting to lose control of my body and strange tremors shot up my spine as I realized that my heart had began to beat in tune with the drums. I willed my arms to reach up towards my earphones and take them out but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t seem to pull them out of my ears. It was like they had become fused in there somehow and were now a part of me. I sat up and reached for my iPod but the screen was completely black. I held down the button trying to turn it off but the volume just started to slowly increase. I pulled the head phone plug out of it and threw it across the room, yet the song continued to play. It was so loud now that I was sure that my neighbors would wake up. I stood up on my bed, grasping at my ears screaming at the top of my lungs, but all I could hear was the song. The room began to spin and my limbs started to feel numb, like they couldn’t support the weight of my body much longer. Bright blotches of red and black shot across my vision and I fell onto my knees. I crawled towards the corner of my bed and wall and clutched my legs to my chest. I closed my eyes, growing dizzy from the bright spots, and tried to force the blackness to take over me. I was completely and totally losing it. What the hell was happening?