What's Enough?

Chapter 112

(These Four Walls- Little Mix)

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I breathe in and out, trying to get a hold of my breath, but I can't. I run to my front door and take the key from under the mat. As soon as I unlock the door, I stubble in and drop to the floor; I slowly get up. Trying to get my barriers together.

I don't even bother to close the door; I just drag my heavy body up the stairs and into my room. Once I reach my room, I walk over to my desk and grab everything, tossing it on the floor; my blue glass pencil holder shatters on the ground. I take my notebook and rip every page out. The white pages fly in the air and then slowly hit the floor.

I use all my strength and scream out as loud as I can, no one's here, no one is ever here, so I'm not disturbing anyone. I continue trying to catch my breath, but I can't; I scream again and drop to the floor. I ball my fist tightly and continuously bang on the ground.

I cover my ears wanting everything just to stop; my ears are ringing, the room is spinning.

"Just do it," The voice says, "No one loves you, no one cares about you," it mocks.

I remove my hands from my ears and yell, "Leave me alone!"

"They don't care about you; if they did, why would they leave you every chance they get, your a disgrace to them; your a 'King' your supposed to be perfect,"

"I'm not perfect," I sob.

The voice then says, "Cleary," it continues, "They'll hate you for what you did," I cover my ears and curl up on the floor, "Just do it, do us all a favor and put yourself out of your misery, end everything now,"

I rock back and forth still with my hands on my ears; no matter how hard I press my hands on my ear, the voice always makes its way through. I need alcohol.

I get up off the floor and march downstairs to my father's office; he has the best liquor. He has the type of alcohol that will make you drunk within seconds; I grab the bottle of 1968 bourbon off the top shelf and quickly remove the glass cork. As soon as it is off, I guzzle down almost half.

The burning sensation flames my throat, causing me to cough and gasp for air.

"You can't shut me out," the voice says, informing me that the alcohol is not the way to shut it up, "You know what you have to do,"

"I can't,"

"You hate your life, so why not end it? You don't think you'll actually be missed, do you? You have to do it now that you burned down your fathers most prized possession,"

For a hundredth time, I bring my hands to my ears, "Get out my head!!!" I shout and walk out of the office and up to my room. I slam the door shut and take slow steps back; my back hits the desk.

My eyes search the room, I can hear the voices, but I see nothing. The voice is back, stronger than ever; it's looking for a fight, it's trying to win, and it just might. It will.

I walk over to my closet, grab the shoebox. After I open it, I lift the two suicide notes I had written previously from my last two attempts and pull out the razor I cut with.

I don't want to write another suicide note. Why write about what I went through when no one cares?

I walk over to my bathroom and lock the door. Then I sit well, fall, my body has gone completely numb, I can't even hold myself up, I lean against the tub and look straight ahead, with my right foot I close the door.