Sleeping Pills

I used to write stories.
In one of them, I wrote a part on sleeping pills:

They say, 'it's not good for you. Don't rely on sleeping pills, stop taking them.'
She smiled but said nothing, because she recalled a conversation.
One of the many conversations with him.
She once asked him, 'they all ask me to quit sleeping pills, why didn't you do the same?'
She still remembers his answer vividly.
All of the sudden, the world around her faded out and went silent.
Except that she could almost hear his voice saying, 'if you don't need it, you will quit it without me asking.'
Yes, that would be his answer if he were there.
She knew that would be his answer, though he wasn't even there.
She nodded and smiled faintly.
Not to those who ask her to stop taking sleeping pills, but to him--he was right. He is right.

Just a small part of a story I wrote some time ago.
Just some pointless story I write when I have so much in my mind but I couldn't utter a single word.
I wanna add the following to the part on sleeping pills:

They don't understand.
They don't understand that she needs temporary relief--that moment when the sleeping pill comes to effect.
That moment when her body begins to feel light, feathery and relaxed.
That moment when the thoughts in her mind eventually slow down and stop running in her head.
That moment when her sorrow, fear, worries and anger, together with all the thoughts in her head, are consumed and vanish.
That moment when she want to scream or out out loud but couldn't, because she lost control of her body.
That moment when she feels like she lost control to a tiny pill and yet she knows that losing this battle is good for her that she could finally stop crying, though tears still roll down her cheeks involuntarily.
That moment when things stop suffocating her.
That moment when the roaring storm begins to die down and turns into peace. Not a real peace, but the peace before the next storm.
That moment of artificial and temporary peace, the peace before the next storm.

The next day, things are just the way they were.
She knew it so clearly.
But she needs that artificial peace to keep her sanity, at least a superficial sanity.
She has been trained for that all her life: poised, well-behaved, quiet and calm. Smiles. Well-dressed.
Those are all her armors.

Of course, there are moments that she is unarmed--like the few minutes before she falls asleep and the moments when she just woke up.
She knows exactly that loneliness and sorrow can creep through her armors, but the point is: no one else know.
No one else knows her battle with what's in her mind.
'That's good', she thought to herself, smiled and slowly walked into the crowd.
The crowd in which no one knows what is in her mind.
The crowd which no one knows who she really is.
(To be continued)

Expanding the stories that I wrote gives me such a dejavu.
History repeats so much that I'm so sick and tired of being trapped in the whirlpool of emotions and memories.
That found-and-lost cycle that I can never seem to escape.
At times, writing helps to soothe it a bit.
Other times, it worsens the situation.
Pretty much like what sleeping pills do.

Love,
N