That was the night I took eighty pills-
consecutively.
The next morning I was late for college, and missed the train.
There was a lump in my throat from where the pills still seemed to be.
My stomach was full of pills, so I had black coffee for breakfast.
I looked at the train tracks and sought it would have been less painful to be lying there than sitting with these pills in me.

That was the day there was a solar eclipse,
and I couldn't care less.
But nor could anyone else,
about the way I felt.
Or didn't at all.

That day I sat in class and the boy I pretended to have a crush on,
heightened my anxiety.
I left the room and my teacher never did the task she had set again,
She thought it triggered my anxiety.
The boy didn't notice when I left.

That was the day my mum drove me home, an hour from college,
and I slept in the car.
It was the day my new job rang me about my first shift.

I spent the day on the sofa, thinking:
About the boy in my class;
the pills in my stomach;
If he would find out I was drawn to him;
and if anyone would find out about the pills.

A week later my friend found out, and told me to go to the hospital.
But I didn't.
The boy never found out,
because I never said a word,
and never felt a thing.