Letters from Julia

Prologue: Julia Knights

A few months ago, after hearing the sounds of bitterness and hatred every day, I decided to kill myself. Maybe it was depression that consumed my body and took parts of me bit by bit, or maybe it was because I just couldn't take my family anymore. Family meant sticking together through the good and bad times. It meant helping and supporting one another even if they did not deserve it. It meant sacrifice. Choosing the ones you love over yourself.

It was the most selfless thing someone could do- and my family never did that. They were actually the exact opposite. Instead of loving each other, they chose to hate. They chose to ignore the problems thinking everything would go away. But it doesn't. It never goes away. It keeps building and building until eventually, it falls and tumbles down. And that's the thing- everyone knows that when things fall, there is to be a fault. Someone is to be blamed. With blame comes the worst of everything. Words that people would never think of, are said. Hearts are ripped out of their chests. And most of all, walls- endless rows and rows of walls- appear.

    I didn't make an exact date for when I'd go through with this crazy and probably impulsive plan of mine. I was just hoping for a trigger- you know one of those really small things that might not even be a big deal on the full scale, but it may just tip the scale enough for everything to fall apart.

    Three months. That's how long I waited for everything to go downhill. Or possibly, everything was already at the bottom of the hill that I was just waiting for the moment that things would go deeper into the ground and into the soil where everything would be trapped.

    The problem was that throughout the three months, my life got worse.

My family got angrier.

They would fill their hearts with darkness, believing only the worst in each other.

Louder.

They would try to raise their voices so they could be heard. But the problem? No one listens when the tone of your voice says it all- hatred.

More stubborn.

They wouldn't find a middle ground. They refused to try to see the other side no matter how hard I tried to convince them. I was the youngest- and they didn't believe I could possibly understand what was going on around me. Perhaps it was because I never fought with anyone, or because I was too young to form my own opinion. But I knew what was taking place, and I had an opinion- I just kept it inside of me.

    People might wonder, if things got worse, why I waited to kill myself. I waited, because I didn't expect to fall in love. I didn't expect for all of my thoughts to be consumed by him, that it was worth all of the pain and suffering my family put me through. Because I loved him, no, I still love him. But the longer I waited, the more I knew I was going to hurt him. I didn't want to hurt him. I wanted to be the forever girl, the one you held onto until your very last breath. Love is a fire that spreads slowly and then all at once. Its only choice is to grow until it has every last piece of you, making it known that you are claimed.  That was my love for him – and I had to stop it from spreading to every part of me before I became too powerless to immerse the flames in water.

    So now, the Summer of 2012, I wrote letters to my family. Letters of the pain and sadness I went through, when I heard their fights. Letters of why I did what I did. But most of all, letters of how amazing my family could be if they just paused for a moment, and thought about it. That's why I wrote these letters. But, I hid them. Not because I didn't want the letters to be read, but because if they knew me and really cared for me, they'd search through town to find their answers.

    ***

    Before I made my decision of how I was going to die, I decided internally of how I wasn't going to die. Hanging myself meant suffering, it might not be for long, but I didn't want to suffer at all. The longer I suffered, the more I'd become too weak and not want to do it. Pulling the trigger of a gun wouldn't work either. I've never used a gun – much less held one in my hand. I didn't want the last sound before I died to be a gun noise. That's why I decided to jump in front of a train. It was quick, painless, easy, and most of all I would have no chance of living.

    I memorized the schedule of times trains would pass by the old country road my family sometimes drove through. I was leaning against my freshly made bed, hiding the last letter, when I heard my mother leaving. That meant she would out at the bar for a few hours. Today was my dad's night to have me, and I had received a text earlier saying that he'd be here in about an hour. Because of this, I knew today was finally the day. I had the perfect opportunity to die- and I refused to waste it.  With a quick breath, I jumbled four words that would change my fate forever.

@ The train station

    With a slight pause, I got up from my bed, opened the door, and went down stairs. The keys to my car hung from the little door knob near the entryway of the front door. I grabbed it, and started up the car. I took a deep breath after I was in the front seat. I could hear the beating of my heart. Thump. Thump. Thump.  I closed my eyes and took deep breaths to make the sound go away. After few minutes of success, I got out of my car, placed the sticky note on the coffee table (where it would be easy to find,) and drove off.

    It wasn't a far drive to get from my mom's house to the railroad. When I arrived, no cars were passing by. That was good, I thought to myself, as I looked around trying to find a place to hide my car so it wouldn't be too easy to find. If it was too easy, someone could stop me. If it was too hard, people might assume it was a murder or an accident. My family had- no needed- to know it was on purpose. If they didn't, this whole thing would be for nothing.

    I checked the time on my phone, 11:25. That meant, if I wanted everything to go perfectly, I had five minutes before a train would pass by. My mom would be gone for exactly 33 minutes now, and my dad wouldn't be here for another good 30 minutes. (I silently figured that out in my head.) Hopefully, because it was so close to the middle in time, neither of my parents will blame one another – or themselves, for what I was about to do.

    I hid my car on a barren trail located a bit farther up the train tracks, and then I concealed myself in a bush near the cross section of the road and the tracks. I waited. Thump. Thump. Thump. My heartbeat was picking up again. My breathing was faster too, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't control it.  Thump.Thump.Thump. Faster and faster my heartbeat went. I could hear the sound of the train in the distance. The way the birds would start craning their heads towards the train, and then flying away. At that moment, I wish I was one of the birds. I wish I could fly away and escape my soon-to-be death, but I couldn't. Because for me, if I didn't go through with it, it'd be the most selfish thing I ever did.

    The train was closer now. Any second it would pass by me, and I couldn't – and will not, hesitate. Hesitation meant uncertainty. Uncertainty of dying, living, and most of all pain. Thump, thump, skip. Thump, thump, skip. My heart was getting even louder and faster.  My breathing quickened, and loose tears ran down my cheeks. I quickly wiped them away and focused on my situation. I had to time it just right. If the captain of the train saw me, they'd stop or they would be blamed for my death. No one could see me. If they did, my plan wouldn't work, and it NEEDED to work.

    I could see the train rushing through the woods in the distance. Only a few seconds left, I thought. THUMP,THUMP,SKIP.THUMP,THUMP,SKIP.THUMP,THUMP,SKIP. It was beating too fast. I could actually feel the skip every time my heart would miss a beat. I didn't like it; I felt almost sick, like I couldn't breathe enough air. My stomach was aching, beads of sweat were slowly dripping down from my forehead, and I couldn't make my hands stop from shaking. I closed my eyes. Trying to stop something- anything.

    And then, my perfect time came.

    It was just right. The captain wouldn't see me, I wouldn't have to wait a moment for the train to hit, and I would only feel a thing for a second. I had to do it, now.

    With a deep breath, I ran out onto the tracks. I spread out my arms, lifted my chin up high, and felt the wind from the train on my skin. I could see the train directly now. Even if I wanted to back out, although I didn't, it would be too late. Finally, I looked directly at the train as I let the force of it take me away for good.