INHERITANCE

PRÓLOGO

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The truth is, it is not easy to die and that fact went against everything I was taught. I was raised carefully, with utmost attention that I believed a few pills would stop me from breathing, that a cut to my wrist would release enough blood to end my misery. But of course, it wasn't. It didn't. I remembered the night of my attempt, as clear as day, that I could still taste the bitter pills I swallowed, feel the strong taste of raw rubbing alcohol clawing the back of my throat, that rendered the taste of hot cocoa into nothing. It was like the cut on my wrist was still there, oftentimes, I could feel blood dripping off it.

It was night, I was alone with my thoughts and loud, convincing voices overlapping, agreeing with the sin I was about to commit.

I stood in my bathroom, looking at my dishevelled reflection, my eyes had no glint of happiness or will, my lips chapped and bleeding. I stood there wondering when it became this terrible. Perhaps it was the relationship I had with my mother. My mother and I had always been drifting. I had no idea how it started but she hated how I was lacking, how I was dull and boring, how I was too loud and expressive, and how I was too provocative when I had been nothing but a child. I should be because I am.

There was just too much hate that there was little love. The things about myself that I loved became a flaw in her eyes that even I could see. I would rub the flaw away every day to no avail, I would go as far as to peel a part of my skin and would break parts of me just to be loved by her. And I did it too much.

"It's not my fault." My lips tremble. I had repeated those words so often that it felt like an excuse.

I looked down on the sink, where my wrist was submerged. I had made three very deep cuts with blood pouring out of them, that made the puddle turn into a deep maroon. One would think, this is enough. I thought so, too, but no.

"Fuck." I whispered slowly as my eyes shifted onto the pills carelessly stacked on top of each other, with a glass of water.

"I deserve this. I am a waste of space and air, and everything life has to offer. I am nothing and I will be nothing." With my free hands, I touched my stomach, smudging blood on it.

I have repeated those words in my mind, and in my mouth, and it never loses its meaning. For me, it was a fact, it was like repeating the words; "the Earth is an oblate spheroid." It remains a fact, and for that reason, it never loses its meaning.

It felt unfair that I drove myself to this when everyone acted nothing. I asked for help. I know I did but no one listened so in my funeral, I want them to blame themselves so badly, they would kneel on my grave, and beg for my forgiveness- for our forgiveness. For every false assumption they've made about me that managed to claw its way into my consciousness, for every moment they me feel as thought I was not enough, for every moment they believe I am nothing except for the service I have offered, for every moment they have left me alone when I crawled in the dark, for every moment they made me regret every second I spent with them, and for every moment I began to loathe myself for my kindness and softness. I want them to experience the regret I felt when I was with them.

But that's never going to happen. The only thing they would do is hold a normal funeral. They might even start cussing at the total price, because I always come before money. I knew that and it somehow made its way to me that even I treated money before myself.

The room was starting to smell like blood- my blood. It made me nauseous. The strong scene of metal and knowing the fact that it came from my wrist, my body, it scared me. But what scares me is what comes after death.

I came home earlier than expected only to see the house dark, the way it would have been if it were day with the lights shut off. I was sweaty, smelly after playing with my friends. I turned the lights on, only to see the living room in a pigsty. Dishes were thrown everywhere, my sister's phone smashed on the floor, the couches were in a disarray, and the vases were completely destroyed along with the plants my mother deeply cared for.