I feel as if everything I see is bleak and colorless. It has been a boring day, full of boring events and well, just boring everything. I go to swipe my straw like hair behind my ear and feel the warmth of my plump hand brush against my cheek. I sigh and make an attempt to think of something other than what’s happening. I think of the rain and the way it hits the ground, the way it moves everything and nothing. After sighing multiple times I realize all I’ve been doing is sighing for the past twenty minutes but who can blame me? Sometimes nothing is better than engaging in the conversation your parents are having with each other and not you. I’ll admit I’ve definitely fallen below the standard I set for myself. I thought I’d be some great student but lately I’ve realized I can’t bring myself to it. I ask my parents if I can go walk to go smoke a cigarette. I hate myself for it but I’ll be honest, what else can I do other than cut to handle it all? The smoke comes back to hit me in the face, it’s seemingly misty which doesn’t make any sense until you consider the sprinkling going on outside. It’s dark and I’m tired of well, everything. Sometimes I wonder how I’ll do it again tomorrow.
I don’t write much anymore and I think that’s a sad thing honestly. Writing used to be something I enjoyed, then school and honors classes took over. I can’t write stories anymore because I’m either afraid to or I’ve just written so many papers that I cannot bring myself to. I don’t know that I should continue writing, I realize that I should for health purposes but it has become very difficult to write in light of things. I’m just realizing that I’ve had some form of clinical depression that has only progressed in the past year, as well as an anxiety disorder of some sort. I’ve taken a step in the right direction (I hope) and am enrolled in therapy, I’m not too happy about the therapy as a result of it being forced on me but I hope that it’ll help. I’m very stressed and I don’t feel like people would read what I write, but I remind myself that’s okay. I write for myself and I think I should do it more often.
I breathe in the sharpness of the cold air gladly. Another breath comes and another, my blue eyes shoot open and my pupils adjust dramatizing the rest of my blue eyes that seem to burst with colors during the adjustment. I sit upright in the dewy grass and inhale the scent. Everything is perfect and beautiful, the sky is blue, not bright blue but between dark and light leaning toward dark just as I prefer it to be. I smile because there’s no bugs, no sun and yet dim light coming from the sky. There’s a faint scent of the salty waters I had visited in Washington the year before. My senses are heightened and I can almost taste the water. I’m about to get up when an outstretched arm appears seemingly out of nowhere, the man looks and me and nods toward his hand. I take it and he lifts me up quite clumsily. I nearly fall because the lift up is so sudden.
“I’m sorry” he says.
“For what?” I reply, still looking around in wonder.
“Because I know how much this means to you. How much you love and want this. You’ve forgotten your worries and all you remember or know is the happiness that awaits you if you stay.” He says it with great pain as if every word stings the very tongue they roll off of. His accent is thick and Italian, I look up at him and see that he is very out of place here. Everything seems prestigious and clean here and I know I fit perfectly because of the state of my hands and the way I feel. He’s rugged with wrinkles and stubble on his face. Middle aged, dark brown hair and a grave look on his face. Yes, very different from all of this.
“You must understand I wish you could stay,” He says, “I am your friend, I don’t wish to hurt you. I wish to help you and your family.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask bewildered.
“This will sound crazy but trust me” he says softly yet sympathetically.
He leads me to a white door in the middle of the grass field. There are sections of different settings, they’re all uniquely beautiful. They are slivers that begin with the door and branch off to become bigger and resemble a clock in format.
“Understand that this is your perfection, these sections are what you want, they’re the natural beauties that you love. You can choose to stay but that door will vanish. I need you to go through the door, I know it’s a lot to ask from you and that you’ve not known me for very long but it’ll be for the best I promise.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing and after a minute I finally respond “Why?”
“They miss you too greatly, it wasn’t in the book, it was a mistake. I fix those mistakes” He answers.
“What book? I… I just don’t understand” I stammer.
“The book of destiny, the book where your futures are written, rewritten and set. New things are put in it daily but the book made it clear that although things are always in motion and changing your destiny of this day cannot. Too many things would come after. It would set off a deadly effect. That’s why you need to go back. I’m sorry, I wish you could stay because it is really beautiful you know” he says.
I look up at him and feel this need, a need to go through the door. A warmth caresses that feeling with the reassurance everything will be alright and so I open that perfect gleaming white door and step through.
I do not find perfection through the door. I find a broken body, sad, mangled and bloody with tubes stuck into it. The beeping is steady and people are crying and a middle aged woman is holding her hand. MY hand actually. It’s the truth to hard to bear. Tears stream down my face as I suddenly can’t walk nor breath and I go back to being broken and I know what comes next. I have to be put back together. The man picks up my broken mangled soul, the one who had been in that perfect world and paired it with my broken mangled body. The last thing I remember was his smile and a soft thank you. He told me to remember the scars wouldn’t define me. That I should love myself because my beauty was on the inside. He would find me again when it was time.
And then I woke up broken and in pain, choking on the lump in my throat wishing for perfection again.
Sometimes you just lose your will to live and that’s okay until it lasts. Until death isn’t just that thing you think about when your lonely. It starts out at the end of a corridor as a whisper and soon the thought echoes and bounces off the walls. It becomes the only thing you can think about day and night. You stop caring and you detach yourself from everything, longing to be saved although you know if you detach yourself no one can save you. You know you’re the only one that can save yourself but maybe you don’t want to be saved. Maybe you’re tired of saving everyone else. Maybe you just want to let go and hope for the best. Death beckons me, I hear its call. The sound of its name bounces off the walls in my mind growing ever so louder. It screams and screams for me to join it but not today death. Not today. I may hold onto almost nothing but it’s just enough to keep me from finding where the voice of death comes from. It keeps me from walking down the corridor to meet it. Find a way to hang on for those of you who know what I speak of. You never know when something good will happen. There’s a book I read once called “Girl Over the Edge” by Amy Kinzer. In it there’s an old man convincing a girl not to jump off a bridge and he tells her the story of the kid who jumped just a few weeks before. This kid wanted to become an actor so badly but couldn’t seem to land a part and one day he decided to end the pain. What he didn’t know is a week later they released a cast list and he had landed the major part in the play that would have changed everything. You see, you never know what tomorrow will bring so hold on a while and stay away from death, don’t walk down the corridor because your luck could change. Remember that someone loves you. If you can’t think of someone, I love you. Stay strong because everyone deserves to be loved. I don’t care that not many will see this. I don’t care if no one will read it but I have to try because people are worth it despite how awful they are sometimes. They need someone sometimes and I’ll be there for whomever really. Just people need to know they’re loved and that they matter. They need to know that tomorrow could be better and they’ve got to stick around to see what will happen.
She sets her head down in her lap, the hollow aching in her more evident than ever. She’s trying to ignore the screaming downstairs and her phone going off with only notifications from the same social media sites where her so-called “friends” comment on every picture. Everything around her is negative and she’s drowning in it. The negativity leaves her in a place where she can hardly breathe and she wants to go somewhere else she can call home. So she sleeps hoping she won’t wake up and dreaming of the day she won’t.
When she awakens she’s suddenly aware of herself. Aware of the dried blood on her arms, aware of the greasy hair, aware of how fat she is and all her unwanted body hair. So she sits and she thinks for a very long time and despite the pain, showers to get ready for another day. She dares not look at herself naked in the mirror because the sight makes her want to throw up . She’s fat and she knows it because everyone does. Once she has her long-sleeved shirt on she stares in the mirror and puts up her hair.
“You have to be strong no matter what because your siblings need you for another few years. Remember college and remember how much better it could be” she tells herself.
It isn’t much motivation but it gets her through the day. After she’s done with homework and school she finds herself in bed on the internet trying to laugh at the things she sees but all she can think about is how much better it would be if she could be gone. Away on a permanent vacation in which she never has to hear anything ever again or see anything that could hurt her. Everything could be so much better but she stays. She stays through the terrifying night where the shadows make her think of the scary things. Where she sees things she can’t explain and wills everything to go away. She wants to die but not in the way the shadows she sees promise. She’s only fourteen so she can’t do anything to help herself and she needs love because she can’t love herself and no one will teach her to. She doesn’t understand why everyone is so much better than her. The movie stars are so beautiful but she isn’t and she never will be. She does the same thing everyday.
So she cries and cries until she’s twenty-four with no ties. Her siblings are fine and they’ll continue to be fine and she decides she can get her wish with no interference or guilty conscience.
She walks to her nightstand in her small apartment and opens the bottle of medication. She gets out paper and a pen then starts to write. Halfway through she gets a message from a person from high school. It’s an apology. She cries and she puts it off for another night.
She’s now eighty-five and has wished for death so many times but never followed through. She’s got four children that may not look like her but she loves them as if they came from her body. She holds her wife’s hand and her wife cries. The hospital has a particular odor that she doesn’t want to smell anymore. She doesn’t want to hear them cry anymore. She wants to go to the place where she’s always wanted to go. She made it so far that she doesn’t know if she wants to go but it’s time and she knows that. She’ll miss her life which is something she never thought would ever happen. After getting her doctorate and her job as a professor things seemed to get better. The hurt was there but the notes weren’t as frequent, and her wife taught her to love and take care of herself. She tells her wife it’ll be okay and that it’s the place she’s always wanted to go. As she slips away she can’t help but think about the 46 notes she wrote that remain in her nightstand that she never followed through with. As death nears she nears the place she’s always dreamed of because dead is the thing she’s always wished to be. Until now of course, because now she wants to live more. To sit in her chair holding her wife’s hand while the grandchildren and great-grandchildren are in their home. The toddlers play with blocks by the television and they all laugh together. They all cry together. They all live together. Together they were and together they would be…
There we stand. Looking out over the city as the sun sets making it seem as if the town is ablaze. His hand slowly makes its way toward mine. I can’t. So I leave. I’d rather not have to live with the guilt of killing him. He calls after me. I go down the rocky side of the mountain stumbling into a forest. I’d have to walk home.