Trigger Warning
She didn’t know
how to handle all this. Her teachers, her parents, her friends, none of them
really understood what she was going through. None of them could do anything to
help her. She was alone. Alone in a world so cruel and misunderstood that she
thought about taking her life every day, just so she could feel free.
No one, as far as
she could make out, could see anyone else having to do the same as she does;
faking smiles. Faking laughter. Faking happiness just so no one would ask the
question, “Are you alright?” because she didn’t know how to answer it. Yet
however much she didn’t want to be asked that simple question, she still wanted
to be asked it. No one has asked her how she feels for a long while. To her, it
seems like they don’t care. To her, it seems like everyone is blind to the pain
in her eyes. To her, it’s
like this Every. Day. Of. Her. Life. Her school bag full of her treasured
possessions: her little notebook, which is has all her secrets and feelings in;
her favourite book which is falling apart due to the amount of times she
thumbed through the pages, not wanting a new one as to her, this book described
her perfectly; a purse full of money which is yet to be spent, but knowing she
might need it one day, she doesn’t dare spend a penny; and finally, her pouch.
Full of things no one has
ever found out about. Plasters – bandages – cleansing wipes – a stash full of
tablets, the strongest of their kind – and blades.
Oh, her blades.
Old ones which are due to be chucked, but can’t bear to be parted with. New
ones which are sharper than ever, even making her flinch a bit as she presses
down. Yet no one knew. No one paid enough attention, or cared enough to ask
her, “Are you alright?” or “Why do you never turn up to PE?”. Not that she
wanted anyone to find out. It was her secret. Her fucked up life. Her problems.
Whenever she even spoke of a tiny secret to someone who probably couldn’t be
trusted, she felt relief, but the feeling of being a burden overcomes that.
Every time.
She could feel
herself slipping into her old habits again. All her positive thoughts of the
past few weeks were melting away bit by bit every day. It was so bloody tiring
having to be happy all the time and she didn’t have the energy anymore. No, in
fact, her energy levels were so low that starting to get hooked on coffee and energy
drinks were her only ways to survive the drawling mornings, and the long, oh so
long afternoons. The evenings were the worst, her distractions of the day slowly slipping
into the negative, suicidal thoughts. Night time was when she was meant to be
asleep. Her sleeping pattern was as fucked as fucked could be, so sleep was not
an option. That’s why she has to have 3 coffees before school, only for her to
buy a 6 pack of energy drinks to last her all day.
Her purse was
slowly emptying. Without noticing, she was spending the money she was meant to
be saving. She’d saved that money for months and months, maybe even leaking
into a year. Yet, she didn’t care anymore. No one cared, so why should she? Her
sanity was slowly, slowly turning into insanity. The very little sanity she had
left told her to keep her mouth shut. Otherwise people will get involved, and
honestly, it was right. Everyone would have invaded her business & then she’d
have nowhere to go. Nowhere. 100% alone forever. No matter how alone she felt
now, she knew that if people got involved she’d feel even more alone. Slipping
into the deep hole of depression further.
Because, she’s a
person too, and she has problems too. And even though they might not be their
problems, they’re still problems. Yet, she still sat alone in the library at
lunch. She ate alone. Walked to lessons, alone. Teachers only coming over to
give her work a tick. Mark her spellings out of 10. Give her the next steps to
improve. Yet, the teachers didn’t tell her to do this, or improve on that. Her
work was perfect. She couldn’t see it, but they did. She only thought they
weren’t giving her any
steps or rewards, because they didn’t care… But care they did; they saw her
getting up on stage in a few years’ time to collect her rewards. The rewards
which count.
But one day it
was too late. Her timer in her mind stopped. Her fresh bottle of water. The
pills which were once left untouched. Her mind swizzled and her eyes could see
lights flashing. Laying down, closing her eyes and taking one last breath. She
was free at last. Wonders could work now. Her mind slowly switched off the thoughts,
one by one. The lights in her mind switched off. It became darker, much scarier
than she anticipated. But this is what she had wanted for so long, right? An
adventure? To somewhere, where no one could hear her scream. Somewhere, no one
could come back from. Sharp pains jabbed at her from goodness knows what. The
more she fell, the more it scared her, yet, she couldn’t get out. The cries
from people she saw every day, started to fill her mind. The “Why?”’s. The
“What? No!”’s. The “But she was so fucking beautiful, I absolutely adored
her!”’s. She wanted to go back. She needed to go back – to see these people.
Tell them she’s okay. Stop them worrying, make
the cries stop. But she couldn’t. It was too late. No matter how hard it was to
go back and wake herself up, unwrite the note, unswallow the pills, unthink the thoughts, it was already far too late.
6 feet under and
not even past her 60th birthday. She could see now, but not how she wanted to.
She wanted to see life through a crystal clear glass, yet all she can see is
blurry, ‘could have been’s…’ and regret her suicide, she will. Forever.
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