I stood in the corner of my room and watched the multicoloured lights radiate off every surface it touched. My foot wanted so desperately to step out and fully indulge myself in the beauty but as always my mind found a way to talk me out of it. "Do you really think stepping into some pretty lights will change your mind? As if the moment the right colour hits you, it'll start a spark and all the hope you once held will rush back between your cells and fill you once more?" I took a shaky breath and sunk down in my corner.
It wasn't planned, all this. I mean, of course the thought has played on loop in my head since I was about 12, but today wasn't planned.
Did I ever have a fighting chance? A real fighting chance? Or are our Destineys something written out long before our birth, never changing no matter what we do, or don't do? If I step out into the lights now, does something in the universe shift, does the ending of this story change?
As I contemplate these questions, a sticky note detaches itself from my llama plushy and gracefully dances around the room, every beam of light hitting it perfectly as it falls to the ground. Even a piece of paper is more capable than myself to do something as simple.
The sticky note just says a single name. They all do. It wasn't planned, I just figured my friends might appreciate some parting gifts. Maybe they'll shove it deep into the hall closet and forget about it. Maybe they'll put it in a glass case and try not to weep every time they walk past it.
I wish I could say goodbye, let everyone know it wasn't their fault, they couldn't have stopped this, how much I love them. I can't do that. A text saying all this at 2 a.m. screams "I am about to kill myself. You can try and stop it." I don't want that. I don't want my friends to pace their apartments, sending frantic texts to everyone who so much as glanced in my direction "did she tell you this too? did you notice anything different about her these past few weeks? can anyone go check on her? should we call for help?" I don't want to be stopped.
Sunlight had crept through my blinds after another restless night this morning. I ventured out into the world to complete my normal tasks that never seem to give me even the smallest ounce of satisfaction. I went through the motions in a giant blur, as if a little robot was sitting in my head, behind my eyes, watching out and controlling my every move with these little controls. While my body was present, my mind was in a fog and nothing felt real. It's been this way for a few years now.
It was dark by the time I returned home. I shamefully crawled into bed without changing, displeased yet again with the way I wasted my day.
I analyzed every moment of my life that led up to this moment. Doesn't life hand this much misfortune and pain to someone so young so they have no choice but to come to this same conclusion?
I laid there for a bit before it hit me: Why am I still here? The sun will still creep through every blind tomorrow, my friends will still continue on with their lives, so why force myself to suffer through it all? I know people love me, I know people will miss me, but does anyones life really change much if I leave? Am I not just a toy, that's taken off the self when needed and put back up after playtime? While I know there are people who enjoy my presence, that doesn't mean their lives are ruined without it. If someones well being depended solely on wither or not I was here, things would be different.
But there isn't, so it isn't.
I stood up, walked towards the center of the room, and let out a deep sign.
Should I write a note..? No. Thats stupid. I don't need to write out my life story and explain how I got here. It won't change anything.
I step up onto the chair, looking around my room for the last time.
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I feel cowardly admitting that I hoped somehow, someone on this planet felt a strange need to reach out to me. What if this is that moment where the universe shifts, and things can finally feel good again?
I pull my phone out and sigh.
A twitter notification for a tweet someone liked from last week.
"How do I stop feeling this way?"
The universe is giving me every sign to do this. Now.
I don't even bother putting my phone back in my pocket as I slip the noose over my head and step off the chair.
