(Based on the song, 911 — Ellise)

On the phone, the number is 911. You don't call them, you just keep their number dialed so you can be on time if you ever want to live again. You're sitting in the bathroom, the mascara has spread, from an irrepressible stream of tears. What should I tell you? That you're tired of your boyfriend and your mind is buying you? That you can't stand being a doll in his hands anymore, and you can't stand another scandal? But he likes it so much, so enjoys making you hysterical and convulsing... But what if it's OK this time? He'll come up as usual, apologize, say he's wrong, kiss him, maybe more... But does it really matter right now? You've got the last pills in your hands and he's still not coming home.

Heartache, squeezing your chest. It's just the consequences of the pills, or the demons are out on the hunt and are about to take you... You put your hand to your lips to finish it. But the palm is empty; it doesn't have the last dose.

You're blowing yourself up and looking for a package that could have something left in it. But so far to no avail. Did your desire to live wake up and in your delirium did you not notice how it stopped you from killing yourself? Maybe this higher power is hinting that it will give you the salvation you so longed for... Yes, you should speak to the 911 operator right now and seize your chance! Understand how crazy he made you, understand that you have to run away from him!