Naivety

*Last warning:
Trigger warning do not read if your are sensitive to things such as:
Mental illness and suicide.

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And so she sat up on her houses roof staring at the stars scattered across her night sky, with the moon light gently kissing her face, highlighting it in a way only her smile could, during the day.

Everything was hers. She had her own bedroom, the bedroom stayed in her own house, her house filled with her own people she adores as role models, even more of her own people were placed in her own school and her own school that allowed her to follow her own rules at whatever time she chose.

They would call her Navi, short for naïve.

Everything was hers. She had her own bedroom that she cried in most of the time, the bedroom stayed in her own big and seemingly empty house, her house filled with images of her own people she adored as role models, her own  people stretched out of her grasp all the way to her own school where her own people were forced to enjoy her presents, her own school where she was allowed to follow anything she wanted to out of pity.

She loved knowing that she was in control, everyone lived by her own rules.

But poor Navi “didn’t know” and stayed in denial.

She honestly never had anything. Her bedroom that she cried in waiting for her parents to come home and when she got to school it only became worse, people made as if they loved her but they would allow poor Navi to hurt . She knew in her own soul that it was all fake, the smiles, the care, the loyalty, the school allowing her to do what she wanted because she and her family weighed as much as gold and diamonds.

But poor Navi couldn’t take knowing that all she truly ever had was herself. She had her own problems, her own weaknesses, her own losses, her own low self-esteem, her own poor views of herself and her own blurred understanding of life.

For some reason Navi found her ceiling fan and her dads’ mountain climbing equipment, specifically the rope so appealing, mesmerizing even. So much so she attached them to each other, so much so she thought it would be so much prettier with a lamp that loomed like the moon attached to it as well…

Silence, peace and quiet, her room lit up by her smiling face as if it were day time and glistening tears. Her own work of art.

Short story/ poem done by Sarah Rossie.

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle”
-Plato

P. S. For those of you who read and understood the meaning, I don’t think suicide is okay. The end is might seem like I do think it’s a good option but trust me when I say I do not. I wrote this based off of true understanding of what I know that people with suicidal thoughts think of death. Most suicidal people believe things will be better when they die. This is not the case. Please understand that there is a way to fight and that anyone is able to make it if they try.

The message I’m trying to deliver is, take care of yourself and others.

Thank you