WARNING: The entry contains sensitive issues such as self-harm, depression, and suicide. If these topics may bring you discomfort and may trigger something in you, please do read with caution. This is a pure work of fiction.
Genre: Slice of Life
The storm is closing in.
People say they know how it feels like. People say they know what I'm suffering. People say they will help me whenever I feel like this. People say they will never leave me.
I say, bullshit!
No one understands this more than me. No one can feel what I'm feeling. This thing. This poor little thing you call stupid, idiot, weak, fag, emo, suicidal is one heck of a wreck! I am a train running at full speed waiting for a narrow ending.
The video camera is ready. The red light suggests it's already recording.
I see this kid with dark circles around his eyes, bloodshot and red. He's always having nightmares. The only thing keeping him sane is a bottle of medicated drugs. It's supposed to calm him down. The effects wear off after an hour and he's back again with the reality he tries to get away from.
That is me. That pathetic kid everyone bullies is me. That kid who is always reliant to medication is me. That kid who is a closet is me. That kid in the video staring back at me-that is me.
But I wasn't like this before. I used to have friends. I used to play outside. I used to climb trees. A lot has changed.
A lot has changed ever since I woke up from a dream. A dream so perfect I would puke myself.
With the notion of what I was becoming, I look directly at the screen projecting someone foreign. This is not me. I became a monster. A monster in front of everyone's eyes. A monster everyone tries to get away from. A monster who does not belong in anything.
I do not belong . . . anywhere.
I swallow hard. "So, um, hi," I say in front of my computer. It seems stupid as I talk to myself. But I am doing this because I want to leave something. "It's been four years since I was depressed." I pause for a long time because I don't know how to do this. I have the urge to stop the recording but have no intention of doing so. I have to keep this going.
"Four years of depression. You might be wondering, how long I am keeping up. You know, the funny thing is my therapist once told me that keeping up is like you have to run up the stairs even when you're already tired.
"I just-I can't keep up anymore."
The storm has begun.
The storm is raging. The storm is so loud I can't hear my own thoughts.
There is a ghost in front of me. He's crying but I don't know why. He's in pain. He's depressed. He wants to end it once and for all.
I take a deep breath as I continue. "But I am not here to talk about my depression. By the time you are watching this, I'm already dead. I will kill myself right after this video. It's not your fault for not getting on time. It's not your fault for not keeping an eye on me. It's not everyone's fault. Don't blame yourself." I doubt they will blame themselves. My parents probably will. Or maybe my ex-boyfriend. But they will just move on. Time is the greatest healer. It will heal any wound. But not me.
My breathing runs heavy as I try to compose myself. I wipe my tears with my hands and take a few more breaths. I continue back when my breathing becomes steady again.
"I leave this-or should I say, I left this video for everyone to know that there is hope. But I'm already tired of hoping that someday I will be okay, that someday I will grow up with someone I love, that someday I won't get hurt again.
"There are a hundred ways to die. I tried cutting my wrists." I flash both of my arms to the camera. The fresh ones are still red. "But it just doesn't work. I cut my wrists so many times I no longer think of it as pain, but rather pleasure." It's my bodily function to cut my skin almost every night. And when I can't find any spots on my arms, I turn to my thighs.
I half smile at the camera. "I tried hanging myself but my ex-boyfriend caught me when he came to my house unexpectedly. When I tried for the second time, the rope gave." I shake my head as I recall such vivid memories. "And just four months ago I tried drinking rat poison. They found me immediately so I was rushed to the hospital.
"I am such a failure at committing suicide. But not today." I planned this all month long. No one will come to see me today. No one will come to my rescue. No one will bother to knock at my door to check on me. No one will.
I pause again. How many times do I have to pause before I can say what I have to say? I mean, I will die a few minutes from now and leaving a note seems pointless. I should have gone with a letter. No. I should have just killed myself.
I take a few breaths.
"To you, who is watching this, please don't feel sorry for me. Just don't. I'm only doing this because things just keep on getting worst. My parents got divorced. My depression keeps on getting worst. My boyfriend recently broke up with me. My friends who I trusted about me told the whole school about my situation. Yes, I am gay. I love boys more than I love girls. But people see me as if I will bite them down. The problem with today's society is people will expect you to be straight. People expect you to be like them. Ever since I was a child, people expect me to marry a girl and have kids. This needs to stop.
"I am gay. And because of that, I am always bullied at school. Because of that, I am always thrown at a dumpster. Because of that, I lost my friends. Because of that . . . I will kill myself."
Those words came out of my mouth. I didn't have to think. It just flowed right out of my head.
I stare at the screen and keep on wondering the point of this when I know myself this won't be seen by the world. This won't be like Facebook or Twitter where you are a celebrity for doing something stupid.
I keep on taking deeper breaths.
"For a long time," I continue, "I always wanted for someone to notice my struggles and to stay with me even when I keep on pushing them away. I actually found someone. But just like everybody else, he gave up on me." I find myself shaking my head. "It was all but lies. I tied my strings to the promises he made. Yet . . . yet, he cut those strings. The strings that tied me to him, the strings that I once believed to be destiny, the strings that weren't supposed to be broken."
I find myself crying again.
"What is this?" I ask to myself as I wipe my tears. "What is this? I'm not supposed to cry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
I punch my face. I promised myself not to say sorry again. I said it anyway.
"I'm sorry. I lied. This is not supposed to be about my depression, but I talked about it. And I'm sorry."
The storm is at it wit's end.
Few more breaths until I see myself again at the screen. The guy staring back is already dead. I have to continue.
"So, I'll just end it this way. No good byes, no I love you's, nothing. Just like the way I was treated. Nothing."
I stare back at myself for so long until I hit the stop button. I let the computer be. They will eventually find the video.
I pull out a semiautomatic pistol from a drawer on my computer desk. I always check it every day if it's still there. The pistol is not too heavy but not too light either. I press the release and put the three bullets in the magazine before inserting it back in the cartridge. I have three bullets in case the first one failed to kill me.
The bed I'm sitting at will be soaked in blood later. But I have to do this.
A small smile suddenly appears on my face. It's the relief that I got to say those words even though I am just talking to myself. I'm feeling satisfied.
I laugh. I laugh at myself. I laugh as if I never laughed before. This is so great. I am laughing like an idiot.
So this is the calm after the storm.
I point the muzzle at my temple.