I sit on my bed tossing and turning the pills that I stole out of my moms car, the Googled struggle still illuminating my room, it's the only light. In one hand I have the chance to let go and be free in the way that I've always wanted to be. In the other an advertisement is below the phrase that I typed in the search bar. "suicide hotline" is bolded in blue with the number below. Then below that is what I really searched for, in the same blue bold as the advertisement it reads out, "Easy ways to kill myself". If this story were to go how it actually went, I would exit out of that incognito tab and search for my brother's guidance through all this. But a part of me want to know what would have happened if I threw the phone instead of the pills and took them all. Letting my vision blur twirl and darken until I fall to the floor, asleep in the way I want to be. But I know how this story plays out. With the option I took in the beginning, and in reality I saw a glimpse of the dark path, leading to nothing. Friends, boyfriend, siblings, and even people I've only talked to once, bombard my phone with questings about my absence the week before, writings of pain fill my notifications showing the true love that is held for me. Everyone concerned and showing their ghosts of the path I chose not to go down. All except my parents. Who's first words were when seeing me in that hospital was, "Here we go again." and "I'm off work for this?". But their thoughts and words against me couldn't be anymore unless. I don't need them. Because though death has pounded at my door and instead of comfort they say goodbye, I have fought off the urges and the sickness. Because in their eyes my death would release a burden off their shoulders. But I still beat, and breath, and dance and tell the banging intruder at my door to fuck off. Because after all the hands have tried to pull and push me 6 feet under. I still kick and scream. I kick and scream for my life.
