Not So Happy Endings

7•'DUE TO DIE'

THE INNOCENT MURDERER

I wonder why I'm writing a short story of my life when I always hated literature.

I guess it comes with the thoughts, suicide.

Suicide just like in the movies, a number of multicoloured meds in hand,a pen and paper.

I mean when people write suicide letters it's usually a paragraph or two with tears dropping but I'm surprisingly in this mood for a bit of literature, so I'll get to it already.

My understanding of death didn't come from losing my mum to the house collapse when I was six or losing my dad to the poison I allegedly added to our breakfast or losing my best friend to an accident in the car I allegedly drove or losing my unborn child to excess alcohol.

What I felt those times was loss. Just loss because they say stuff like that is inevitable but what was more inevitable was it happening to me and those I only ever loved.

"Why me?" A question I stopped asking a long time ago though I didn't find an answer.

But I understood death when I realised I couldn't work anymore and was advised to resign because I was terminal.

I'm twenty now my inability to follow my dream is the highest level of pain I've ever felt.

It feels like I'm being poked over and over again with toxic needles.

I really didn't rethink my second suicide attempt as soon as I knew fashion designing had to go for me to live.

When I realized I could have contributed to the building collapse my mother died in, I consoled myself by saying "things happen, anyone could have made the same mistake".

When I allegedly mixed poison thinking it was a new spice with the food my dad and I ate and miraculously as the doctors called it survived, unlike in fiction when people feel like they should have died , I felt like it was not just my time to die.

Neither did I shed a tear as he was being laid in the ground because I remember how he said not to cry when my mother died.

Also when I found out I was diagnosed with cancer and had to spend almost all of what my parents left me on chemotherapy, I reminded myself of a hurdles race and told my self the least I could do was win the race which I did.

Giving the doctors another miraculous survival to celebrate.

But again and again the only thing that saddened me wasn't losing my unborn child or finding out I was terminal, but finding out that I had to let go of my life to live.

What an irony.

Chewing extra ten pills should make this feeling go away, I mean I could just end it.

I have less than a year to live anyway.

On chewing the fifth pill, my nurse just had to come in for regular checkup and call for an emergency and yes they did stuff to detoxify whatever effects the overdose had on me.

"It's a miracle she survived" they said when both I and my dad were rushed to the hospital from food poisoning, the same thing they said when I ran the car into a wall killing my best friend who was at the back seat and leaving me with a cracked skull, same thing they say every time I don't die.