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…
What are you doing? I think. Charlie Sanders runs across the street. I stare I can’t do anything. I shouldn’t care what he does. Then it happens. I most definitely care about what he’s just done.
“CHARLIE WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?” I scream.
He lays in the middle of the street. No cars are around. Just him on the ground in his own pool of blood with a black gun in his hand.
She wills it all to stop. She asks it all to just go away and leave her alone forever. It doesn’t. It follows her your own shadow when the sun is bright and hot. It stings like sharp thorns on vines wrapped around her arms and legs. Love hurts, but it shouldn’t hurt this bad. Its unnatural the pain she’s in. It was a unique breakup, but then again every breakup is.
She turns, her arm visible in the bright full moonlight, bite marks cover her arms. He looks like a shadow, a quick one though. A shadow that could be at one place and then another in less than a second. He looks through her with those unforgiving black eyes. Tears run down her face but she wills the tears to stop because they like it when you cry.
“P-p-p-p- l-l ease” she chokes out.
His sharp teeth glitter in the silver light.
“I thought you loved me?” He asks her, the tone of his voice dark but smooth.
Perhaps like velvet? He inches closer gracefully. He bites her like he always does. The expression on her face is one of shock and horror. Tears run off her face. She continues to cry. She screams. The screaming stops. Her body slumps to the ground.
The worst part is she did love him although she didn’t want to. Although he did horrible things to her. Although she got weaker and weaker each time he visited. The pain became an obsession, a hunger. So she let him in. She allowed him to enter her home. Because she loved him. She loved his dark eyes and his dark hair. She loved the angle of his cheekbones. The hunger, the need, her obbession. Most of all her undying love was what killed her in the end. But the very worst of it was, that the monster loved her too. But he couldn’t control the thirst.
He slumps away, his dark eyes focusing on nothing. Walking over the blood stains on the carpet, and he tries to cry. But he can’t. For everyone knows that the dead cannot cry.
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.
The doorbell rings and I make my way to the front door and there is the man I’ve always dreaded seeing. He hands me the envelope and I don’t even have to read it to know he’s gone.
*One Week Later*
Rain pours down and clouds cover the bright sun. The day matches my mood, its depressing, perfect to make a funeral even more depressing. We were supposed to have the funeral a few days ago but I was crying too much. Whew, here we go. His casket is draped in the American Flag, and then I have to say goodbye. Its then I break down. I take off my heels and run across the cemetary to my truck. As soon as I get into the driver’s seat I realize I can’t cry at all. I’m trying to hard to cry, I’m not sure why I can’t, I feel like I need to, as if it’s my duty, but I can’t. Once I heard a quote from a movie based on World War two, one of the women serving as a nurse said something among the lines of “What do you do when you have no more tears?” My answer to that at that exact moment was scream. I screamed, I hit the steering wheel multiple times.
I hadn’t screamed in so long, since I was in middle school probably. My screams were just heartbroken screams. While I screamed I was teary eyed and while my throat felt like it was closing. Those screams were nothing like the ones from middle school.
After thirty minutes I look to my right just to notice people are leaving because the service has ended. After everyone has left I walk over to the casket and just talk.
“Do you remember the first time I met you?” I ask my dead fiance.
There’s no answer, I don’t need one. I just go on about how we met at the high school. How he planned to enlist, about how excited I was to get married. When I’ve finished every single detail, trying to answer every question he asked me that I didn’t get to respond to. Its finally time for me to say goodbye, and saying goodbye was the hardest part of all. I tell him I love him, and go on talking again about how much I’ll miss him. Three hours later I’m on my way home, my stomach feels like it’ll just fall out of my body. Soon I’m overcome with exhaustion and can’t wait to get out of this black dress. Once I get home I see my mother’s car waiting there and I can’t believe it. My mother left when I was young and didn’t come back into my life until I was 17. He was there for me that whole difficult time. After age 18 she left again, but she’ll occasionally visit to come ask me for money. He was always there to tell her no, to help me through everything.
“Hi!” She says happily, as if she’s not here to ask me for something.
“What the hell do you want?” I ask her angrily.
Black eyeliner and mascara are smeared across my pale face. My black hair is down a little past my shoulders, its messy and wavy.
“What happened?” My birth mother asks me.
“Don’t act like you care, I asked you a question, I expect you to answer” I say hatefully.
“Well, I wanted to just see you and talk to yo-”
“No you don’t cut the crap! I’m not giving you money or anything else!” I yell back.
She rolls her eyes, “so selfish, you know I’m just trying to talk and you bring up money again!”
“The only reason why you’re here is to take the little money I have for yourself!” I scream, and throw one of my black heels at her.
Its a good shot, it hits her in the leg.
“Well I just need a little of money okay!” She screams.
“I’m not giving you any money,” I say with an angry scrunched up disgusted look on my face. “My fiance died a week ago the funeral was today, and you come to ask me for money? You disgust me, he was nice to you, he may not have given you money but he tried to help you. He offered to help you in ways that could help you get money and you decided, hey I’ll just show up and take something else from my daughter!”
My mother shakes her head “I didn’t know he died but since he did, I mean I know this is so hard for you, you might just have some room in your heart for me and I heard he went into the military, so maybe, you’ll have some extra money as well” she stutters through the whole thing.
She obviously didn’t know he had passed away, but this is horrifying. I walk closer to her to get in her face and tell her straight to leave. The smell hit me, it was like running into a solid brick wall, it was just so strong.
“Have you been smoking?” I ask her.
She looks startled, “N-no of course not.”
“Mother, have you been smoking weed again?” I ask.
My mother left when I was eight to go do “great things” well she messed up. She ended up being a part of a gang, became addicted to drugs and even became a drug dealer herself. Well now ever since she found me again, she’s been lying to me. Saying she quit ect. How could she? We paid for special treatment just because she seemed like she needed to quit. Like she wanted to. Well she quit for what, the two months she was there?
“Look don’t you judge me, saying I’m smokin-” She starts but stops because I’m running toward her bronze car.
I yank the car door open and it reeks of smoke. I climb into the seat and pry the door open with my leg. I stretch my neck so I can see the trunk, its covered by carpet. Oh so she’s gotten somewhat smart now huh? So I pull the carpet off and there is a little handle to pull up where she’s obviously hiding the drugs.
There wasn’t a day she didn’t think about him. It was pretty much 24/7, I mean it was only her in that small house of her’s. She even dreams about him. The dreams were great, they were together once again, and he was okay. Totally fine. But those were dreams, the reality of everything was that he wasn’t coming back for a long time. Maybe not ever. No. She refused to think he wouldn’t come back. He knew how to take care of himself, he was out there serving his country just like he wanted to. But sometimes, there was that sliver of thought that made her think. What would I do if he wasn’t ever going to be here by my side? They’re supposed to be getting married when he comes home. The engagement ring glitters on her thick fingers. She never liked her fingers, or the huge hands they were attached to, but he didn’t seem to mind, and that was good enough for her. She moves automatically to the dryer after it beeps, grabs the clothes, and tosses them into the pale green hamper.