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.