Don't Judge Me (Being Edited)

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Yes. That was all. That was life.

It sucked and it was dull. Terribly dull. I’d imagined for a long time that it was not my life. One day Callum or Mr Williams or Hayley or Susie or Callum would show up at my dorm room door, take my hand, and then whisk me off home. But eventually I realised that it was life. I realised this the day my period came back. That familiar awful pain told me that life was normal. Life was no longer tragic or painful or beautiful or red. Life was normal, and I was regular. And that was the four years. Like a period. Horrible and regular and reminding you you’re like every other fucking person in the world. No what shit you have going on, the need to breed will never fail you.

Yep. That was life for a long time, a terribly long time. Until one day I thought to myself you know what, I don’t like this.

It’s weird, right?

With all the crap I went through never before had I thought that I did not like life. Not properly anyway.

I never thought about how much I abhorred it, I never thought of it as an option.

I’d always thought in life you were meant to live as long as you possibly could and, in that time, people the world. I had already decided to opt out of peopling the world, knowing my genes I’d give birth to monsters. But I’d never thought of going the whole way: killing the problem at the root.

But why not? What could it hurt?

Would it hurt? I almost hoped it would.

That day, that thought, was not too long ago actually. I remember it well. I was in a Psychology exam, the final exam of my A-levels. I had finished early and sat up straight to watch the masses try and prove their intelligence.

It’s truly unnerving to watch. You should do it one day, maybe you’ll see what I’m getting at.

Whilst I was watching the hurried and panicked pens and pencils I decided to think again- that hard thinking I’d done the night I killed my dad.

I thought about whom I was doing the exams for- because it really didn’t feel like I was doing them for me. And then I wondered what it was I doing for myself. My answer was automatic, that answer they subconsciously pump into your membrane, I’m living, I’m breathing, I’m happy. As soon as the answer came I knew the last part of it was a lie. I was not happy. I didn’t feel I ever would be again- in truth I did not want to be. I then realised the first part of my answer was a barely the truth and that the middle was just mindless necessity.

Am I living, am I breathing, am I happy?  Yes, but only because I have to be.

Who says?

Tell the truth, Antonia. Go on, be brave.

Yes. I told myself to be brave. And that is what resulted in the conclusion put ever so eloquently in the phrase you know what, I don’t like this.

And after a five minute breather, as the words seemed like a punch in the stomach- a punch that woke me up and made my eyes water- I smiled.

I put my exam paper to the side and scribbled the words life is an optiononto my arm then stared at it.

It made sense. Everything that had never been right, everything that I didn’t understand made perfect, concise, clear, excellent sense. I loved it. I loved everything.

Don’t call me depressed or mentally ill or attention-seeking or cliché because it won’t make a difference, it will all roll off my back. Because. Because because because…. Because when I decided that I wanted to die I was the happiest I have ever been.