Speaker 1: I'll start by saying that if I had known what
this would lead to, I never would have touched it.
I would have kept dragging myself through the exhaustion and
creeping dread that had settled over my life. I would
have let it crush me instead. But at the time
it didn't feel like a mistake. It felt like salvation.
I was barely keeping it together mentally, physically, and emotionally.
Work was draining the life out of me. Every morning
I woke up with the same exhausted groan, accompanied by
the all too familiar, dull pain behind my eyes as
the realization that I had to get through another day
of this hit me. My life had become a loop
of meaningless emails and passive aggressive meetings. My social life
had deteriorated into scrolling through other people's happiness on Instagram.
My body felt sluggish, and so did everything else. Then,
out of nowhere, I got a text from Jason. He
was a guy I used to work with before he
burned out worse than me. I hadn't heard from him
in almost a year. Ever since he quit his job,
went through a brutal break up and spiraled into some
kind of depressive abyss. He wanted to meet up, and
when we did I barely recognized him when he walked
into the bar. Jason had always looked horrible, but as
he stood in front of me, he looked like he
had been reborn. His skin was clear and glowing, his
eyes were sharp and full of life. Even the way
he moved was different. I couldn't stop staring. What the
hell happened to you? I finally asked. Jason just smiled,
leaned back in his chair and figured it out. He
reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, nondescript
pill box. White. It looked like Ibroprofen at first glance.
He set it on the table between us. I frowned,
what's that? Jason slid the box toward me. The answer.
I picked it up, popped the lid open. Inside were
dozens of small, white pills, perfectly uniform, no logo, no label.
They could have been anything. I raised an eyebrow. You
selling me drugs now, Jason laughed. No, I don't sell them.
I don't even know where to get more. I let
out a dry chuckle and told him that this sounded
like some rich Silicon Valley guy's new tech bro drug,
some dumb arpttermized performance crap. But Jason just shook his head.
So where'd you get them? He hesitated, just for a moment.
Then he exceled like he'd made peace with something. I
can't explain it, not in a way that'll make sense.
But I don't need as many as I have, and
I don't want to leave without giving you the chance leave.
Jason nodded, I'm moving other side of the world. I
don't think I'm coming back. That hit harder than I expected.
Jason had been one of the few people who understood
how miserable our lives had been. I set the pill
box down. Jason, man, I don't know about this. He
held up a hand, cutting me off. You don't have
to take them. I'm not pushing anything. Just try it
one one time. If you don't like it, toss the rest.
He looked so at peace, and I was so tired.
I took the pill that night. It was instant. The
moment the pill dissolved on my tongue, I felt something
unlock inside me. Not a high, not like being drunk
or stoned, clarity, pure undiluted euphoria. My thoughts became razor sharp,
every idea crystal clear. My body felt light. Every single
inch of me just worked. I felt entirely unstoppable. I
lay back in my bed, staring at the ceiling and
realized I was smiling. A deep, unshakable contentment filled my chest.
For the first time in years. I felt alive. After that,
there was no crash, no sluggish come down, just the perfect,
dreamless sleep. The next morning, I had woken up from
the best sleep of my life, but better, like my
body had been completely reset, like every ounce of exhaustion,
every creeping doubt, every bit of background stress I've been
carrying for years had been scrubbed away. I breathed through
work like it was nothing, every task effortless. I finished
my entire workload before lunch. My boss even pulled me aside,
eyes wide. I don't know what's gotten into you, but
keep it up. This is some of the best work
I've seen from you. It wasn't just work. People noticed more.
Conversations flowed easier, my jokes landed harder. I felt sharper, funnier,
more confident than I ever had. By the end of
the day, my phone was blowing up. Friends I hadn't
talked to in months, reaching out, wanting to hang out.
I wasn't invisible anymore. That night, as I lay in bed,
i'd a thought circling around in my head, why wouldn't
I take another? But I also did not want to
depend on this, so I would hold off for a
while see if anything went wrong. I'd convinced myself that
I would only use it when things got really bad,
a boost to get me back on track. Maybe it
was even some kind of placebo effect, my brain waking
up for the first time in years and tricking itself
into feeling superhuman. But the next morning, when I rolled
out of bed and felt the familiar drag of exhaustion
pulling at me, I knew it had worn off. I
hesitated for a while, I even went through the motions
of a normal mourning, But it wasn't the same. That
sharp clarity I felt yesterday was gone, like a door
had been shut in my brain. The temptation was there,
whispering in the back of my head. Just one more?
What's the harm? I gave in easier then, I'd like
to admit. The second pill hit just like the first.
There was no slow build up, no waiting period. The
moment I swallowed it, my mind clicked into place, like
someone had turned the lights on inside my skull. The
heaviness in my limbs vanished. I was instantly unburdened by
hesitation or doubt. I was alive. Then I blinked and
an hour was gone. I stood in my bathroom, staring
at my reflection. The last thing I remembered was taking
the pill, checking the time, and heading toward the sink
to brush my teeth. But now it looked like I
had just got done taking a shower. The water was running,
and the clock on the wall said it was past eight.
I turned off the FORRCET and robed to my face,
trying to shake off the feeling of something being missing.
But I felt better than fine. My body was humming
with energy, the same exhilarating sensation I had felt before.
Maybe I'd just sowned out or fallen into some kind
of hyperfocus state. I wasn't about to overthink it, not
when it felt this good. I moved through chores and
work like there was second nature. Problems that would have
normally taken me hours to work through now came with
obvious solutions, as if my brain had already worked them
out in the background. When my bar dropped an urgent
project at my desk, expecting it to take the rest
of the day, I had finished it before lunch. That afternoon,
he called me into his office. If you keep this up,
we might have to talk about a real promotion. I nodded,
acting cool, but inside I was thrilled. I had been
stuck in this job for years, grinding through the same routine,
and now in less than a week, I was suddenly
the best employee in the room. The pill was working.
I decided to go out with some of the people
that had written me off a long time ago, after
I had bailed one too many times or let text
sit unanswered. And when I showed up, I wasn't the
quiet guy in the corner. I was the one keeping
conversations going, the one people actually wanted to talk to.
That's how I met Mia. It wasn't anything special, at
least not at first, just a random conversation at a bar,
a mutual and introducing us over drinks. But unlike every
other time I had tried to flirt with some one,
there was no awkwardness. The words came easily, the laughter
felt natural. By the end of the night we'd exchanged numbers.
By the end of the week, we'd gone on two dates.
At night, I stood in front of my mirror, studying
my own reflection. I looked so much more confident, the
same way Jason had. I wasn't going to stop, not
when I had a whole box left. The night I lost.
The week, I was supposed to meet mea for dinner.
I'd been looking forward to it all day. But as
I stood in front of my mirror fixing my shirt,
I felt something I never wanted to feel again, sluggishness.
My limbs felt heavy again, my thoughts weren't as sharp.
It was nothing extreme, but it was noticeable, the kind
of creeping exhaustion I had all but tried to forget about.
I knew what I had to do. I grabbed the
pill box from my dresser and popped one into my mouth.
It sat on my tongue for a moment before dissolving,
and just like that, the fog lifted, my heart beat steadied,
my mind lit up. That was the last thing I remembered.
I woke up in my bed. The first thing I
noticed was the morning light bleeding through my blinds. That
didn't make sense. My date had been at seven p m.
I reached for my phone, blinking against the brightness. The
screen showed the date. It was seven days later. I
sat up so fast I nearly fell out of bed.
My first thought was Mere, I had missed our date.
She must have been furious. And work. I had been
out for a whole week. My boss was going to
kill me. My bills, my emails, my texts, everything was
probably in ruins. I unlocked my phone, dreading what I
was about to see, but there were no miscalls or
panicked messages. I tried looking for a sign that anything
was wrong, but I couldn't find anything. I scrolled through
my texts, breath catching in my throat when I saw
an unread message from Mere. Last night was amazing. I
feel like I've known you forever. I can't wait to
see you again. I stared at the message, rereading it
over and over. We had gone on another date, I
had been there. I checked my care log. I'd spoken
to people, texted them, replied to emails. My work schedule
was completely normal, no absences. It was like I'd lived
the week perfectly, except I didn't remember any of it.
My hands were shaking when I decided to dial my coworker.
I had to know what was going on, and I
had no other way of getting information that I could
think of. He picked up almost immediately. Yo, what's up.
I forced the casual tone. Not much, man, just checking in.
How was work this week? There was a pause, then
a chuckle rough, but you should know you were there.
My stomach dropped. I tried again, Yeah, of course, just
you know. It was a blur, But remind me what happened.
He started listening off projects, meetings, conversations we'd had. I
hung up and called a close friend next, same thing.
You good men, They asked, you've been on fire lately?
Haven't seen you this sharpen years. I could barely respond.
My mouth had gone dry. Everyone remembered a week that
I didn't live. My body had been awake, but I
wasn't in it. The next number I called was Jason's.
This number is no longer in service. I tried again,
and again nothing. Jason was gone, probably already living life
in that other country he was talking about. That night
I dumped the pill box into the trash. I wasn't
touching it ever again. But the moment I made my
decision my body betrayed me. It started with what felt
like a mild headache pressing against my skull. By the
next morning, the ache had grown into a full body fever.
My muscles felt like they were shredding themselves apart. My
skin was too tight, too hot, crawling with a thousand
unseen insects. I called up on my couch, drenched in sweat,
gripping my stomach as waves of nausea row. I thought
it would pass, but it didn't. By the second day,
I couldn't think straight. My brain felt fractured, like there
was something inside it trying to dig its way out.
My thoughts wouldn't connect, My vision blurred, My hands shook
violently whenever I tried to hold anything. At one point,
I swore I heard someone whispering my name. I turned
my head so fast my neck cracked, but there was
no one there. By the third day, I wasn't sure
what was real anymore. I stopped showing up to work.
The job that had felt effortless now felt impossible. Every
email I tried to write came out as nonsense. I
would stare at my screen for hours, my fingers frozen,
my brain refusing to cooperate. My boss sent me a
single message, What's going on with you? You were doing so well.
I didn't answer. My friend stopped reaching out. At first,
they checked in asked if I was okay, but I
was moody, volatile, paranoid. I would snap at them for
no reason, then apologize the next day. Eventually they stopped
texting back. Mia was the last to go. She stuck
around longer than I expected. She tried to be patient,
but I could see it in her eyes. She didn't
understand what had changed. One night, she came over, sat
next to me on my couch and said, you're different now.
I didn't even argue. She left, and I didn't try
to stop her. By the end of the week, I
was completely alone. I had lost everything the pill had
given me, my job, my friends, my mind, my body.
The worst of all, I had lost who I could
have been because I wasn't just feeling withdrawal. I was
feeling hollow, like whatever had been inside me for that
missing week had taken something with it when it left,
and the only way to get it back was to
take another pill. I held out as long as I could,
I really did. I locked myself in my apartment, trying
to sweat it out. To fight through it. I promised
I wouldn't touch it again. My body moved, I could
stop it. I dug through the trash, hands shaking, tearing
open the bag, searching for the pill box. Halfway through,
I realized how out of control I was. Yet I
couldn't do anything about it. I held one of the
pills in my palm, staring at it. I didn't want
to take it, but I didn't have a choice. I
put it on my tongue and swallowed. I woke up
to the smell of fresh coffee, inexpensive perfume, soft morning
light filtered through the sheer white curtains. The bed beneath
me was impossibly soft, the kind of mattress that swallowed
you whole. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming.
Then I turned my head. A woman was sleeping beside me.
Mir My pulls spiked. I sat up too fast, the
sheets tangling around me. As I struggled to get free.
My body felt different, stronger. This wasn't my bed. The
realization settled in my stomach like a stone. I swung
my legs over the side and stood up, scanning the room.
It was massive, a high rise apartment, modern and sleek,
floor to ceiling windows overlooking a glittering city skyline. I
had never been here before. There was a walking closet
to my left, the door slightly ajar. Inside, racks of
expensive suits and designer shoes lined the walls. The shelves
held watches that cost more than I rent used to.
None of it was mine, but it was. I opened
the bedside draw and found a wallet with my ID,
my name, my face. I turned to the nightstand and
grabbed my phone, fingers trembling as I checked the lock screen.
The date stared back at me. One year later. I
stopped breathing. A year, not a week, a full year.
The room blurred around me, A sudden rush of nausea
climbing up my throat. I gripped the edge of the dresser,
struggling to keep myself upright. One year I had lost
an entire year, but somehow I had still been here.
I unlocked my phone with a shaking hands, scroll through
months of text messages I didn't recognize. At the top
was a chat with mire. My breath hitched. I opened it.
We had kept dating, we had traveled together. She had
sent pictures of us at expensive restaurants on boats in
different countries. There were videos of me smiling, laughing, talking
about how amazing life had been I had proposed to her.
There was a photo of her hand, a diamond ring
shining against the skin. I read the messages, trying to
force a single memory to the surface, but there was nothing.
I was looking at someone else's life, a better life,
a perfect life, and I hadn't been here to live it.
I backed out of my text checked my bank account.
The balance nearly made me drop the phone. Millions. I
had become insanely wealthy. Whatever had been using my body
for the past year, it had played the part flawlessly.
I scrawled through emails. I had a high powered job now,
something in finance, something I knew I had never been
qualified for. I had clients, colleagues who respected me. I
was a completely different person, and nobody seemed to notice.
Mia stirred in her bed. I flinched. She sat up,
stretching her hair falling in waves over her shoulders. She
turned to me with an easy familiarity, smiling like she
had done this a hundred times before. Warning, baby, she murmured,
voice heavy with sleep. I felt like I was going
to be sick. I stumbled out of the bedroom and
into the hallway, my breath coming fast and shallow. The
apartment was pristine, enormous. Every service was sleek and polished,
every piece of furniture meticulously chosen. I made my way
to the kitchen, hands gripping the counter as I tried
to steady myself. What was I supposed to do? I
couldn't tell anyone. I couldn't say, Hey, I actually haven't
been here for the past year. Can you tell me
what happened? My life was perfect and everything I had
ever wanted, but none of it belonged to me because
I was the one who had built it. I took
a shaky breath, trying to think. Could I fake it,
just pick up where my body had left off, learn
the routines, read through my messages, figure out how to
become this version of me? Or should I try to
stop it, find out what really happened, make sure it
never happened again. I wasn't sure what the right answer was.
But then my hand moved, not on its own. I
could feel myself doing it. I was reaching, but I
wasn't making the choice. My fingers brushed against something cold
and smooth on the counter. I looked down the pill box,
the same one Jason had given me, the same one
I had thrown away, the same one I had sworn
off forever I was waiting. I stared at the pill
in my hand. I knew what would happen, but even
as I tried to resist, I felt it that pull,
that impossible temptation. I had taken one to lose an hour,
one to lose a week, one to lose a year,
And now, as the pill pressed against my lips, I
wondered how much would I lose this time?