Maybe, YES!

Prologue

The day I decided to kill myself was one of the happiest days of my life.

A strange calm descended on me. A warm anesthetized calm that made me smile. A real smile. Not like those fake ones I walk around wearing all the time- but a genuine one that I could feel throughout my entire body.

The calm soon gave way to relief, and for the first time in ages, I felt like I could breathe again. The tightness that had been strangling my ribcage was gone. The slab of concrete that had been sitting on top of my lungs, forcing the air out- was gone. The chains that bound my ankles together making it hard to walk....gone. It was all gone. For the first time in ages, I was free.

And I would be even freer soon.

But there were things to do first. And they had to be done perfectly, so everyone would understand. So there would be no loose strings, no words unspoken and no confusion.

I sat up in bed and looked out the window. It was summer and the purple Jacaranda trees were in full bloom. They had already started dropping their petals, and a rich, velvety purple carpet spread out underneath my window.

From my third floor apartment I had a view over the Johannesburg skyline. It had never looked so beautiful before. I was happy about this. I could remember it like this. Beautiful.

I suddenly think about maybe painting a picture of the view, but quickly I realize that I won't be able to capture the beauty properly since I only have black and white paint. And today I wasn't black, white and grey. Today I was feeling remarkably yellow. Today I was the kind of person who would use a bright, generous dollop of purple paint- I almost regretted squeezing all the colored paint down the kitchen sink in that angsty moment in which I decided that all the world was black. And if you were lucky, you might find the odd shade of gray.

Gray was all you could hope for in this world. But today I could almost see rainbows.

I walked to the kitchen where I started my morning ritual. Coffee and a glass of water to swallow all the pills. I opened my pill box and took them out. I count them first- always. There are six. I have to put them in a straight line running from left to right before I can take them. That's the rule. I also have to check them individually as I put them into my mouth. That's the other rule.

I lay the pills out, but as I put the fourth one down, it dawns on me. I don't need to take them today. This thought hits me so hard that I cry. I fall to my knees and weep.

The idea that I will never have to take them again makes me cry so hard that I start to laugh. Joy. Pure joy rushes through me. I take them in my hand and look at them one last time before throwing them across the room. They hit the tiled floor and all bounce off it in different directions. It sounds nice. Like musical notes being played.

I'd thought quite carefully about what music I would like playing if this day ever came. I'd decided on Nursery Rhymes. I know, a strange choice, but I can remember being a happy child singing nursery rhymes. I wanted those happy memories to be my last thoughts. It had been a perfect time. Before everything had gone wrong. Before I went wrong.

How had I gone so wrong? It's hard to say really. It had crept up on me at first. Stalked me, watched me and waited for its opportunity to strike. To dig its claws in. And once its claws are in you, there's nothing you can do.

I always think of my depression as a large black crow. A fucking evil devil crow. It swoops in out of nowhere and embeds its talons in your shoulder. It sits there all day, whispering things into your ear. It stares at you with its black, greedy eyes that want to consume everything in sight. Its sharp beak pecks into your brain, and eats out all the good bits.

Today the crow was gone. It had flown away. And I would never have to feel its presence again.

I take out a notepad. I'd thought about writing emails, but that seemed so impersonal. There were only a few notes to write. Mom, dad, Dr. Murray and my only real friend Bethany. I decided that I would write one to the crow too.

Dear devil bird.

Goodbye. I am no longer yours.

I kept them short. I kept them sweet. I kept them succinct. I knew what I wanted to say. And I also knew that no matter what I said, my mother would still not understand. I'd long gotten over the guilt that I might feel over leaving her. Like this, I wasn't a real daughter anyway. I wasn't a real person.

I was like an overhead projection of a person. I looked, walked and talked like a real person, but inside I was empty. My insides had been carved out, maybe even pecked out by Lucifer's feathered friend- I wouldn't put that past him. He's a trixy, cunning one that crow.

Did you know that the collective noun for a bunch of crows is a murder of crows? So apt don't you think?

If only it weren't for the fucking leak in the floor of my bathroom. If it weren't for the fact that the woman living below me had nothing better to do with her time than complaining to the landlord the second one tiny drop leaked through her ceiling.

If only the landlord hadn't had his own set of keys. If only the ambulance hadn't come so quickly and those paramedics hadn't been so bloody determined- the fractured ribs attested to their exuberance.

If only they hadn't managed to stop the bleeding so quickly and pump my stomach so effectively.

If only, if only, if only I was dead.