DROWN

4.

I don't want to die, I just want the pain to go away.
-Unknown

This is how it ends. I want out of this world, it's become too much. I thought I was strong enough to fight but it pushed me to the limits and now the cracks can be seen. Now I am weak.

I have my note ready and a bottle of pills in my hand. I want out of this fucked up world, but some part of me feels as though this is selfish. I take 3 large breaths and take the pills, one by one. 

Slowly a state of unconsciousness fills me. Finally, it's over I think while my mind floats in an abyss of darkness. I breathe in and out relishing my last and final breaths. The numbness becoming stronger and stronger until I can't feel anything at all. 

This feeling can't be described, it's blissful but silently eerie at the same time. I feel at peace with myself. I knew this was a smart decision. I know people say that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem but damn this felt good. 

I'm no longer worried about being a failure. I didn't have to worry about people seeing my skin. I don't have to worry about how much I've eaten. I'm free from this world, I can be happy again.

Suddenly I feel this pull and urge to open my eyes. I'm blinded by a bright light, my first thought is how am I in heaven, I'm sure I was going to hell.  As my eyes adjust I realize where I am. 

A hospital.

I'm alive. Most people would be happy to be given a second chance, but I'm dreading everything that's coming. I really can't deal with this shit anymore. 

I begin to notice the little cords connected to my body. If I pull them out will I die? I attempt to pull them out of my arm but a nurse walks into my room with a disapproving stare. 

Nobody understands how much I don't want to be here. Some people are meant to die, I'm one of those people. They think they can change my mindset but good luck to them because as soon as I'm outta here I'm going to do this all again.

My family arrives and the look on their faces tells me everything. They had no idea. They all just cry while I sit there with a straight face. I will not talk to anyone while I'm here. What goes through my head is not for them to write down on a piece of paper and analyze.

Can't they see that not everyone wants to get better? 

I look down on my wrists and see they have been bandaged up. I feel more and more violated, they had no right to look at my wrists. A familiar sensation rips through my body and soon I have a breakdown. I cry, grab my hair and attempt to calm myself down. I haven't had one this bad in months. 

A doctor comes into my room and gives me an injection, probably drugs of some kind. Soon I start to feel sleepy. 

What is more deadly, a gun or a thought? A gun gives you the opportunity, but a thought pulls the trigger.

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