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I was standing at the kitchen sink looking down at a pot that contained water and elbow macaroni hot off the stove. I can't tell you how long I had been standing there, that way, being so very still. Still, that is but for the streaming tears racing each other to my jawline. What I do know is that each moment was painful. Each moment was torture. And each moment felt like a thousand years. 

In each and everyone one of those moments, I was battling the disease inside of my brain that told me the only way I could get pain pills was to pour that pot of scalding water on my arm. I was trying to silence that voice while simultaneously willing myself to stop being a coward and give myself a 2nd-degree burn. I had come to the conclusion that causing myself grave bodily harm would be the only way an ER doctor would prescribe me pain pills.

Something had gone wrong in my head, a filthy and heartless virus attached itself to it and was steadily spreading. It was sprouting limbs and attachin…

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