Sometimes I wonder if anyone out there cries simply because they know they’ve hurt me. I wonder if they miss me or loved me the way I have loved them. To have someone love you but not just that, to have someone that wants to love you; wants nothing more than to love you. The very idea of it makes my chest hurt, not pang or clench because those actions last for merely seconds but hurt; a never ending hurt. Nobody will ever want to love me. Nobody will question my motives. I will simply be the girl who killed herself, if anything at all. In fact, I doubt many will even remember me but that’s alright. I don’t mind. This was never about them, this was about me and I think I finally know why I failed. All along I knew the reason. Nobody likes weakness, nobody likes a hider. I just needed to be confident. Nobody would have seen my scars; nobody would have seen my plain hair or unfashionable clothes. Nobody would have seen me, nobody would have judged if I’d shown them love. Love for myself; for my clothes; for my looks but it was hard. Smiling was hard. Smiling was always hard. No matter how much I tried, they could always see and as long as they could see; they could judge, they could assume and they could tear me apart.
That’s why I hated them, all of them. They had power over me; they could ruin my life; they did ruin my life. I didn’t want to be a slave to my emotions, so I pushed them away; I hurt the ones I loved in spite because I knew they could do it back but twice as painful. I would have died for them and it would have been seen as noble but to die for myself, they called it cowardly. I called it freedom. Back then I was naive, I thought I had a right to die; a right to freedom but freedom is never free. You have to work for it, live for it; breathe for it so that one day you will finally get the chance and you will seize it! It’s just unfortunate that you will not live to savour the taste.
I ran my tongue along the pallet of my mouth and scoffed, ironic. Dry. Completely dry, so much for savouring the taste. I suppose you aren’t to savour till you’re lying there, bleeding to death. Seeping out of consciousness and into the numb haven you’ve longed for. I suppose that has been the worst of it all, longing. “We will be arriving in Forks shortly, please make sure you take all of your belongings when you depart. Thank you.” The coach driver said tiredly over the intercom. The sun was just coming up over the horizon, presenting to me my last sunrise and it was beautiful. Even if I’m the only one to think so, it makes no difference; there is no loss. It only takes one person to see the beauty in something, in someone and that one will always be beautiful. I zipped up my black waterproof and unbuckled my seat belt. I’m not quite there yet.
I had no suitcase or belongings to receive from the nattering coach driver so I departed from the group of yawning citizens and set off on my own up towards the mountain. I bypassed the entire empty town on the way, nothing of importance stood out although I did take a few seconds to watch an elderly man sleeping obliviously on an old wooden bench. It caused me to wonder what I would have looked like at his age, I imagined my grandmother but with paler skin and sadder eyes. It wasn’t long before I found the bottom of a wood trail. There were so many trees in all directions, getting lost here would not be desirable but I suppose the thought is pointless; I have no tangible intention of finding my way back.
This walk is going to take me a while but that’s okay. I want to reflect properly on my life. I know that there are no flashbacks; there is no bittersweet feeling that lulls you into peaceful sleeping. It is just darkness, a suffocating blackness that burns through you; so much that death is finally the release you’re begging for. Nobody ever believes you though. They want to fool themselves; they want to believe that dying is not painful; that it’s not an abyss; that it’s a wonderful passage of moving on. Those people are stupid. Those people do not want to die, they search for the reasons to live and hold onto them tightly in some naive attempt to resurface but life is never that kind. They are going to die whether their life is perfect, whether their love is beautiful; whether their bank is full or not. What those people fail to see is that life is not worth living for. Love is a lie, acceptance is a lie; living is a lie. We all want to travel, to fall in love; to be happy but none of it is achievable. What do we humans know of love? What do we know of happiness? The truth of it all is that too many people undervalue what they are and overvalue what they’re not. It makes them want more, it gives them lust for the lie of perfection and once they get there they lie about happiness because happiness is none existent. Not to anybody. There is too much hate and expectation in the world, so much negativity and cruelness. We try to make things worth living for but in actual fact, we merely create aids in surviving.
I think my most likable quote has always been ‘I don’t know a perfect person. I only know flawed people who are still worth loving’ by John Green. I wonder if this is what my parents think of me, I hope so. No ideally perfect person would want to die like I do but maybe death takes me beyond flawed; maybe death makes me unlovable. I will just become a void in their lives but that’s okay, time will fill this void and they will continue to live in their own deceit. Still, in a numbing way I will miss the way my father gently grasps the back of my neck and nestles a kiss in my hair. I will miss the smell of my mother’s perfume, a scent that took me back to bedtime stories as a child when she would cuddle me in. I’ll miss Alexis’ laugh and Willow’s toothless grin. Unfortunately missing a family who purposefully overlooked my pain every day is not enough. I couldn’t go on surviving every miserable day for unappreciative people who knew nothing of my struggle. They did not see what I saw, they did not feel what I felt; the self hatred that chipped off more of my soul every time I saw my own reflection, the same self hatred that sunk blades through my flesh.
So what is there to truly miss? I won’t miss my mother’s senseless lectures about how others are grateful to be alive. I won’t miss Alexis’ snide comments about my weight or my father’s point of views on homosexuality. Willow is at least too young to be spiteful though I certainly won’t miss her crying at 3am either. I’m being harsh. My family are not bad people. They just don’t understand me like I don’t understand them.
This is it.
No more razor blades; no more nightmares; no more lies. I’m finally about to get my freedom. After just seeping through its grasp, I’d spent years angry at myself for failing; years trying to reassure the world I was sane. That what I had done was an act of saneness, that what I’m about to do is an act of saneness. I am not delusional, I know what I want; I’ve suffered in silence for what I want and now I’m about to cross the finish line. I’m about to receive my medal, about to take to the podium; I have earned the right to die. Whether they state that in their newspapers or on their televisions is not relevant, I know it. I know it! This glory is mine and mine alone.
No more thinking. I’m done with thinking.
I padded to the edge and resisted the urge to peer over the cliff side. It didn’t matter what lay below, not really. I took my last deep breath, closed my eyes and leaped to victory.
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'No ideally perfect person would want to die like I do but maybe death takes me beyond flawed; maybe death makes me unlovable.' - When Evelyn Wilde finally takes her life into her own hands, she finds herself in a situation far less desirable than l...