Death

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.

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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…

Goodbye.

Do you ever feel like you don’t have a reason to stay with something anymore?  I’m at that point right now.  I think about just quitting this blog and all of that…  I’m not sure if I should but at the same time I won’t be writing anymore on this or anything (mostly because of lack of motivation).  I think its time to say goodbye.

.(continued)

Sure enough when I lift up the carpet, there they are.  The prescription drugs, the bags of white powder and leaves.  It broke my heart.  To think I thought she was actually getting better.  I turn, get out of her car and shake my head in tears.

“You are nothing to me” I say to her.

Then I walk to my car, grab my phone, dial 911 behind the steering wheel without her seeing.  She stands there infuriated, not knowing what to do.  Not knowing what will be coming within minutes.

“911 what’s your emergency?”

I pretend I dropped something and dip down below the steering wheel.

“A woman is at my house, she has drugs on her and I don’t know what to do other than report her” I say.

I barely hear the rest of the conversation between us.  Me giving the address and then, minutes later, I hear the sirens.  Judy Marshall runs to her car, I sneer, I used to call that woman mom.  I get out of my truck quickly.

“Oh no you don’t!” I scream at her. 

I sprint to her and pull her out of her drivers seat.  Blood fills my nose and I feel like I’m drowning, but I don’t give up despite the metallic smell flooding my nose and filling my mouth.  I take her down to the ground.  She’s weak, but not as weak as I thought.  She can definitely still throw a punch.  My heart pounds, she stays on the ground, pinned down.  The police run over, I explain that I know her, that she’s my birth mother.  I explain everything I know.  They take it from there.  Hours later, they’re gone.  Judy’s car is gone, she’s also out of my life now.  Hopefully she won’t be able to bother me any more.  I walk inside to our home.  Pictures hang on the wall.  Pictures of him. 

Its then the tears flood back into my eyes because of all the memories associated with the photos.  I make a horrible choking sound.  Who cares any more?  No one will see me cry here I remind myself.  And so, I fall to the hard wooden floor.  A thin layer of dust covers it.  I’ve obviously not mopped in a while.  There is screaming and tears. 

“Why?  WHY!?!?!?!”  I scream up toward the sky. 

My hands fly up toward my face.  I get on my knees, tears continue to stream down my pale face.  I loved him.  Correction, I love him.  I hold my stomach, I’ve been crying so hard that it hurts.  I can barely walk, I stumble repeatedly until I make it into our room.  I can’t help but think, I’m all alone now. 

I’m not as strong as I seem to others.  In reality I’m just a woman, who lost her very best friend and love.  Anger overwhelms me.  Why was he taken from me?  I empty the soothing bath salts into my hot bath and step in the porcelain tub.  I lay in there and drift off.   

He sneers at me, his brown eyes show his feelings, complete and utter disgust.  I thought he loved me, but he doesn’t.  There are few things worse than that feeling of complete and utter rejection.  Rejection of the person who supposedly loved you for years.  I never loved you he says.  Soon I’m in the battle field with him, he tells shows the man a picture of his fiance.  Its not me.  Horror takes over me.  I scream for him, he’s distracted by my scream.  Next we’re at the lake and he takes another girl’s hand.  He kisses her.

And then I wake up from my nightmare.  I scream.  It may not seem horrible, but the feeling of him not loving me like I did him was horrible for me.  For the next week nightmares continue.  None like the one where he hated me though.  I just watched him get killed.  Twice in hand to hand combat, three times I dreampt he was shot and then the other two times he was blown up.  The ones where he was blown up were the worst.  Body parts being flung everywhere.  After that week of nightmares I realize that the reason I might be having those dreams, is because I didn’t know how he died.  Maybe it was my mind sorting through all the possibilities.  

My hand dips into the soapy water, I stare blankly while moving the sponge in circles on the already clean plate.  Nothing is the same anymore.  Everything has changed.  One of the worst parts of someone being gone, is the reminder of it.  Well at least for me anyways.  Everywhere I look in my home, I see the photos of us, and I’m reminded of the fact that he’s gone.  He’s gone forever.  Its never ending.  I stopped answering the phone.  Why?  Because everytime I pick it up I hear about how great of a man he is.  Its then I cry because I KNOW.  He was a great man.  He was so kind.  WHY?  Now I have to use past tense.  Why did he die?  There are so many others, ones that probably deserve death, but it seems every time someone dies, its a good person.  A person who did extraordinary things.  Then there are those people, the murderers who kill just for fun.  That is what angers me.  Its not what angers me the most but its something I think about often.