The morning after I killed myself

The day after I killed myself, I woke up in my bed. I always slept with my mother.
After coming to my room, I turned on the Wi-Fi and as usual became annoyed that the laptop showed "Connected but no internet."
Quickly sending a snap to my friends with whom I have streaks, I just sat down trying to motivate myself into doing some work.
My dad goes out to work before 10 a.m. and my mom has to pack his lunch since he won't be coming home till 5pm.
I connected my Bluetooth headphones with my laptop and opened the Spotify application there.
I played the song ceilings by Lizzy, followed by Old money by Lana Del Rey and Duvet by Boa. Furthermore, I brushed my teeth and freshened up. But wait, why do I feel weird?

The morning after I killed myself, I looked around and felt how much my family loved me.
My mum crying holding the cup in which she gives me coffee every morning, my favorite coffee, the one she makes. 
My brother trying to hold his tears back while holding my guitar.
Being my backbone, always protecting me from anything and everything. Feeling guilty as his responsibility was no more. The one who promised to take me away from my addiction to death and being freed from this world.
My dad staring at my designated spot on the bed where I spent at least 17 hours in a day with my laptop and books.

The morning after I killed myself, I felt bad 
For my younger cousin sister who once believed I will take her to New York, and we will go to Taylor Swift and Lana Del Rey concert. Now, sitting in front of her desk with tears in her eyes and the "Harry Potter sticky notes" I gifted her, trying to believe that I am no more in this world.

I felt bad for my elder cousin sister who was crying, the sweetest soul I have ever seen, my cousin brother who was down all the day.

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love with my mom, my dad, and my brother, without them, I would have not seen 19 years of my life.
I fell in love with all my siblings-who cried for me, my uncles and aunts who loved me so dearly.
I fell in love with my Grandma, with whom I had minor fun arguments-how she loved my brother more than me.

The morning after I killed myself, I saw my friends the ones who made me love myself-my dance partner, my best Wattpad writer (yes it's you), my grace being sad and shedding tears for me. 

The morning after I killed myself, I felt sad for my neighbor's son, who always fought with me but still loved me. Even though he is just 2 years old, he understood that his best friend is no more.

The morning after I killed myself, I watched the rain pouring down. But I did not feel the raindrops on my body. Was the sky crying for me? I wondered.
The street dog who always comes after me now laying down in front of my house. 
I watched the birds fight over the electric wires.
I watched the clouds and the "Indigo" airplane high above in the sky.


The morning after I killed myself, I went back to my body and tried to knock some sense in her dumb head.
I was not a mistake, as the voices in my head told me. My parents very much wanted me, their own child, their own flesh and blood.
My friends loved me. I had some ambitions to complete.
I told her that I was not alone in this world.

The morning after I killed myself, I tried to un-kill myself, but some things in life are not like reversible reactions I learned in my chemistry classes.

Finally, the voices in my head won. I lost my life. I lost the competition. I failed to survive this war between me and my voices.  
I was not meant for this competitive world. 
As time flew by, I lost myself, and now I lost my life to a stupid mistake.

The voices which told me to end my life as well as end everyone's suffering. I do not have to think about making my parents proud of myself and in the procedure becoming a disappointment. 

The voices which made me anxious in the crowd, which forced me to turn the music down, which forced me to believe that I was not living-I was just taking up space.
The loud silence did not let me hear a single positive thing about me. 
Slowly, I gave up on myself. I gave up on being the better version of me. 

I cannot undo this. 
I prayed to God not give a daughter like myself to anyone. Not only that, but I did not deserve them. Furthermore, I did not deserve so much love and care from them.
My self-hatred killed me. My voices and my demons killed me.


They won and I lost, just like always.