The smell of cheap, government food filled the room. The chatter of about two hundred teenagers was almost overwhelming. I began to panic from the noise and quickly did the one thing that helped me escape from my anxiety. I unraveled my headphones, plugged them into my phone and began blasting my music. I just sat there and ate my lunch, avoiding eye contact with the people around me.
From across the table I heard a faint voice. My music was so loud that it only sounded like muffled noise. I pulled a headphone out and searched for the bodiless voice. I heard the voice again, only I could understand what it said, "What kind of trashy music are you listening to? It sounds like a pissed off pig!" Almost as a reaction, my anxiety started to kick in. I started breathing roughly. Inhaling sharply and releasing very quickly. I felt as if I were being asphyxiated. I'm not even sure why. Maybe it was because I knew what was about to happen.
"Hey," the voice shouted again, "I asked you a question, loser!" I turned to look for the voice and came face to face with a six-foot-two ball of muscle and testosterone. His name was Richard Baker. He was a tall, sandy haired, 19-year old junior. He had flunked his sophomore year, making him the oldest junior at our school.
"H-hey, Richard," I stuttered while trying to catch my breath and hide my irregular breathing. I hated when people noticed my fear. I didn't like showing weakness. I knew I was weak, and I knew people knew that too. Maybe I could change their opinion though. It didn't work.
"Hey, punk," Richard said, applying bass to his voice, causing me to jump. "I asked you a question. Don't make me beat your a** in front of everyone."
"S-sorry, Richard," I said, once again, stuttering my way through the sentence. I felt like a prisoner of war being interrogated by the enemy. The fear and anxiety rushing through my body caused my hands to shake uncontrollably. "The song is called 'Knives and Pens'. It's by a band called--" I was cut off by a fist to the chest. The blow knocked me off my feet and onto my back. Richard stood over me, his shadow covering my body. I felt like there was a giant standing over me, about to crush me with his massive foot.
"Do you really think I wanted to know?" He said, breaking out into a laugh. "Dude you're such a pathetic little freak! Look at your hair! If it gets any longer people are gonna think you're a chick!" Those words alone were enough to make my breathing become rough and irregular again. My eyes began to water and at that moment I knew that I had to get out of there before it got worse.
Looking back at me, Richard noticed the tears filling my eyes and began to laugh even harder. "Dude are you really crying right now?" He shouted as he laughed uncontrollably. My mind started to drift to terrible places, so I stood up and started running. I didn't know where I wanted to go. All I know is that I had to leave. I ran off campus and just kept running, stumbling every couple of steps due to my lack of physical activity. After a couple of blocks I slowed my pace and kept walking. My mind was still drifting to bad places. Richards words continued to echo in my head. It was like the world's most hurtful broken record. "You're such a pathetic little freak!" "Look at your hair!" These words continued to play in my head over and over again.
It became unbearable. I made the next left and cut through the park to get to my house. I burst through my front door and ran up the stairs, into my room, and slammed and locked my door. I knew he was right. I began a disparaging philippic against myself. I am a pathetic freak. I'm a mistake. What do you do with mistakes? You remove them from existence. I walked quickly over to my dresser, tears pouring down my face, and opened my top drawer. I was digging around in the drawer trying to find it. "Where the hell is it?" I asked myself, getting more and more irritated each second. My eyes were still pouring over with tears. I wanted it to stop. I wanted the pain to go away. It was all too much.
Finally my hand came into contact with the item I was searching for. I gripped the cold metal with my hand and felt around for a second. Once I pulled my hand out, I stopped crying. All of the emotion had left my body. I stood there with a blank, empty expression on my face and stared at the blade. I finally built up the strength to end the pain and I was no longer afraid to look death in the eyes. My soul was filled with so much pain; so much emptiness. It was too much to bear. I looked up from the razor and walked to the bathroom. I stared into the mirror for a second and told myself that it needed to be done. I made the first incision.
The blade came into contact with my skin and it felt nice. The pinch of the blade breaking my skin felt like I was being pricked with a tiny needle. I slid it up my wrist and the blood trickled out slowly at first, but I had been in science class long enough to know that it would speed up. The tiny droplets became thicker and larger, and eventually turned into small streams. With each and every cut I made, the more blood poured out. I started to feel light-headed so I sat in the bathtub. The blood had made a small puddle around me, staining my favorite Pierce the Veil shirt. After about five minutes, I started to lose my vision. At first it was a slight blur, but eventually it became black spots. I considered it a sign that I was slipping away. That was what I wanted after all, but I was just blacking in and out from the blood loss. My breathing became irregular, but this time not from my anxiety. I knew this is what I wanted. This actually gave me peace. I was almost gone, so to speed up the process, I made one last incision. I slid the blade quickly across my arm, sending the blood on my arm splattering on the shower wall beside me.
I began to fade. My vision was completely black. The final thing I could remember before I faded out was my mother's voice, echoing in my head. She was screaming my name. Panicking and screaming. Then it all went dark.
A jolt was sent through my body as a bright white light peeked through my eyelids. My vision was blurred, but I thought I knew where I was. I was either in a place that I thought never existed, or I was being rushed through a hospital. I closed my eyes to relieve myself from the horribly bright light and at that moment I was somewhere totally different. It was dark. Not your average everyday darkness. Oh no. This was the kind of darkness you only hear about in books. The only light around me was the one illuminating a small circle around me. I stood there, unable to move. All I could do is stand there in fear. "Hello?!" I shouted, not knowing what else to do, "Is anybody there?!"
There was a loud boom that shook the ground below me and knocked me off my feet. Then there was a loud voice that shook everything around me. "WHY HAVE YOU COME!!!!!?"
"I-I uhm..." I couldn't seem to get my words out. The fear the enveloped me had taken complete control. Although I could feel the fear, my anxiety wasn't acting up. This led me to believe one of two things, either I was dead and gone, and this is what Hell's orientation looked like, or I was having a really bad dream. I was still unable to speak. I was completely unable to create even part of a sentence. All I could do was stare into the darkness as the voice continued to echo in my head.
"ANSWER HUMAN," the voice asked in a menacing and head rattling voice.
"Wh-where are you?" I asked. Considering that was all I could manage, I was pretty proud if myself for not freaking out. The voice was loud, gravely, and deep. It made my heart skip beats every time he spoke.
"I AM THE DARKNESS," said the voice in its demonic voice, "I AM EVERYTHING YOU HAVE EVER FEARED! I AM YOUR NEMESIS..."
"Why am I here?" I asked with my clearly fearful voice. I was shaking violently, I was unable to think clearly. I felt a massive pressure overcoming me as if there were walls all around me that were closing in. Each breath I took made the pressure worse. Eventually I felt another jolt. This jolt sent me back to the bright white light. I opened my eyes and inhaled sharply. My chest was heavy. I felt like I had been underwater for more than my lung capacity could handle. All I could see was the faces of terrified doctors in their medical masks. I let my head fall over to the side and I see my arms, covered in dried blood and the deep cuts running up both of my arms. I wanted to know what was going on, but before I could ask, my vision blurred and I passed out again.
I woke up in the hospital bed. The radio was playing in the background at a decently low volume. It just so happened to be my favorite song playing too:
"Carry on my wayward son,
There'll be peace when you are done.
Lay your weary head to rest.
Don't you cry no more..."
I sat up and looked around the room in search for something to tell me where I was. It was around three-thirty in the afternoon. I looked over on the nightstand next to me for my phone, which conveniently was connected to my charger. I hadn't eaten in the period of time I was passed out, so reaching for my phone was a bit of a struggle. I turned my phone on and looked at lock screen. January nineteenth, 2016. I looked at the notifications on my screen. All of them the were messages from people I barely knew. They were all asking me if I was okay. I unlocked my phone and went to my inbox. I tapped on the first message that was there and read the many messages they had sent me. I didn't recognize the number so all I thought to type was:
Who is this?
It's Jennifer. Andy... Please tell me you're okay.
I'm in the hospital right now. Apparently after what happened I flatlined.
Jfc Andy!! You had everyone scared sh*tless...
It was just too much... The doctor's here. I have to go. Text you in a bit.
"Andy," the doctor said. He appeared to be no older than thirty-years old. He wore a simple doctor's coat with a pair of white scrubs. "How are you feeling? You've been out for almost four days."
"Honestly I could use a bite to eat," I said partially jokingly, but partially seriously. "I'm starved."
The doctor smiled gently at me and said, "I got it. I know the hospital food sucks, so I'll send my assistant to Burger King for you."
I looked at him thankfully and smiled gently. "Thank you," I told him happily. It took a little while, considering the nearest fast food joint was about 3 miles from the hospital, but I ended up with a medium chocolate milkshake, an amazing burger with cheese and extra pickles, and a large fry. I practically devoured the meal. The doctor came back a few minutes later and I was finishing off my milkshake and fries.
"Jeez kid.. You really were hungry," the doctor said. He walked up to the bed to change my IV and he stopped to look at my arm. "What made you do this, man?" The doctor said gently.
I honestly hated the fact that it came up, but I figured if they were gonna find me a shrink they might ass well know why. "I had a lot of stuff going on in my head," I said, partially struggling to get my words out, "I got pushed over the edge by some guy at school, so I went home with the intention of ending my life. Clearly that didn't turn out the way I wanted it to."
"Be honest, Andy," The doctor said very kindly, "is it really what you wanted? Aren't you glad you made it through all of this?" In all honesty, no I wasn't happy about it. But I didn't tell him that part.
"I mean.. I guess I am," I lied gracefully. It came naturally to me. I had been lying about my scars for so long that it was easy to lie about pretty much everything. "I was just in the moment. I was emotional and I did the one thing that came naturally to me."
"The first step to recovery, is admitting you have a problem," He said. He had to use the most generic response ever, and it really got under my skin. The heart rate monitor started to go crazy. My heart rate was rising and I was mad.
"Are you really going to use that bullsh*t response with me?" I asked, beginning to raise my voice. "I almost died and you're gonna sit there and tell me that generic response?!" At that point I started screaming. I was done with it.
"All I want is for someone to understand," I said, calming my voice to a calm, quiet tone, "everyone pretends to care, but I know the people who give me that response only say it so that they can sleep at night." At that moment I began to panic again. My breathing became unstable again and my heart rate rose quickly and I didn't know what to do.
"What do you need to calm down," the doctor asked me. I knew he was actually trying to help this time, but I really just needed to be left alone.
"Can you please just go away?" I snapped at him, "You're not gonna be able to help me. Let it pass." With that, he pursed his lips and left me alone. It took me a minute, but I was able to calm down. I knew what I could do. I knew that what was in my I.V. bag was a pain killer. I wasn't sure what, but I knew enough could kill me. I stood up and took the bag down.
I thought about the possibilities for a minute. I was staring into the clear bag at my hands on the other side. I looked over at my left arm, the gashes still very visible and almost haunting. "Is this even worth it?" I thought to myself, "I'm in a hospital... Won't they be able to save me if my heart stops?" I looked up at the T.V. which was playing a rerun of Supernatural and pondered for a minute or two. Then I decided what needed to be done. Looking back at the bag, I made my final decision. I closed my eyes, listened to the T.V. in the background, and took a deep breath in and opened my eyes
"Okay," I said to myself, "I can do this."