TW: self harm, violence & suicidal thoughts. Heed this warning!
Beyoncé
1 year ago
I wake up and the tears start to flow. I don't feel good. I immediately go to the bathroom and begin crying on the floor so I don't wake Megan up and draw attention.
My lips quiver in sadness as my tears rack through my entire body.
I've overstayed my time here on earth. I'm the most pampered murderer out there. I'm living in luxury with everything after taking three lives.
The cold tile floor is a sick reminder of my existence. A sign that I'm still alive. That I'm still breathing, unfortunately so.
I begin scrambling for anything I can find in here without causing much commotion.
I move my hand recklessly in the bottom cabinet and accidentally slice my hand. I pull it back in pain and frown. It's not good enough for my liking, though, even though I never intended to cut myself.
I sit down on the floor and look at the blood and the gash.
I hate myself. And while a lot in me wants to kill myself and be done, another part wants to stay alive for Megan.
I want to move to get up and get some toilet tissue to stop it but I let it run. Blood drips onto my leg as I do nothing to stop it. Maybe it's deeper than I originally thought.
Something in my mind clicks.
I can't have Megan. Seeing this .Seeing me here like this. I want to save her from as much worry as I can.
I know I need help. I don't need death, I need professional help.
I get up and try I try to stop the blood up as much as I can. There's gotta be a place near, right? I can stay the weekend and it'll give me enough time to come up with a lie so Megan won't be worried heavy.
I turn the bathroom light off and toss the bloody toilet tissue.
I quietly walk past my princess and she hasn't woken up nor moved a muscle since I got up. I move quietly out into the kitchen. I pass the counter and see a notepad. Megan will wonder where I am and why I left no doubt. We're basically attached by the hip.
I find a nearby pen and begin writing. I just write and write frantically as tears fall down my face onto the papers. I have never felt my heart beat so fast ever until now. I'm wondering if I'll even be conscious enough to finish this letter.
I grab my phone and see it doesn't have charge so I leave it on the countertop and search for my second one. It's my work phone that usually only takes emails. That's what I take with me before darting out the apartment and going out through the lobby.
I make my quick google search for the location of a nearby hospital.
Without anticipation, someone lands a punch on my face. It's hard enough that blood splatters. I'm across the penthouse complex by now. It's gotta be around two or three in the morning by now.
My jaw throbs and I catch some blood on my hands.
"What the hell man?"
I'm not totally mad at him. Like I said before, the pain feels so good in this moment.
He mumbles incoherently. Must be a crackhead wandering about.
He swings again and I don't try to dodge. He lands a punch right in the neck. Hurts so bad but good at the same time. I struggle to breathe for a split second as I collect myself and realize what's going on right now in this present moment.
Eventually I get my phone to load up an address and I start following the directions on foot. I left that same address in the letter should I need to be picked up.
I get to a certain point and see a cop car. I get a little scared because I'm covered in enough blood that it looks alarming. It slows down and approaches me.
The adrenaline has left me and I feel every bit of soreness in my muscles. I feel my distress heartbeat. I feel tightness in my chest and throat. my hand stings, my eyes are heavy... and that's only what I can put into words. That's only what I can process in this moment.
I stop dead in my tracks.
"You okay maam?"
I shake my head "no".
"Where are you going?"
"A mental health facility. Can you please take me there?"
He nods and mumbles loud enough I can here it, "was gonna take you there anyways. Wandering this late at night with blood on ya?"
"This blood is mine. That guy down the street hit me." I notify him.
"Alright, I won't cuff you because you aren't resisting. Can I trust you not to run off on me?"
I nod. He opens the door to the car and I get in the backseat, then closes it and I hear a loud click.
"Name, maam?"
"Beyoncé Knowles. Beyoncé Giselle Knowles."
He raises his brow and I see him get uneasy. Maybe you should've lied about your name, Beyoncé. I think to myself.
"Your mother owns the beauty company, huh?" He asks.
"Yes."
"My daughter loves her stuff!"
Really? I'm covered in blood and he's over here trying to be a fan? Should I start yelling and knocking my head on something hard enough that I pass out?
"Thank you." is all I say.
"Okay, the closest facility is roughly 15 minutes away. Any serious wounds I might need to be made aware of?"
I take into account my gnarly neck pain and hand cut.
"No sir." I answer.
He gets into his seat and gets onto driving. We pass the penthouse and I catch a glimpse of our home. The thought of my Princess inside completely not knowing what the hell I've done. I have never prayed before until tonight.
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thoughts now that we know what occurred that night?
