Spirals

tunnel vision

I went one final time into my bookbag with focus, knowing exactly what I wanted, and everything in my head went deathly silent then, and all my energy left me, and I relaxed my body completely and slowed my breathing.

Then I took out my mother's gun. And I held my head against the tree, and I held the gun against my head.

Time stopped then. I closed my eyes and felt everything within me slowing down, and every moment became temporary and fragile and thin. In my head was every bit of me, every concept and memory and person and behavior and emotion I had ever experienced in the time I was put on this planet. And in my hand was the power to shut it all down, to let the cycle of creating memories stop, to let my body rest and to escape my head. To clear it, in more ways than one.

To be free.

I was tired. I was tired and I needed the tiredness to end. I was tired of being prey, of being lost, of being worthless and waiting to change. I was tired of following hope like a carrot on a stick. I tried to quiet my thoughts years ago and fucked up and split myself into realms and I tried to end the being that hunted me and fucked up and became every realm that I was not ready for, like a broken pot taped together, expected to hold water again.

The metal against my temple felt cold and I let the cold wash over me.

My mother would be quiet when I went. Maybe it would make her happy and relieved for once. Maybe she would be a little broken and leave my family alone, when she grew angry or drank too much and lost reason.

My older sister would get over it. She would hate me for leaving. She would hate me no matter what, though. And my little sisters would... I wasn't sure. I just knew they needed someone better. They were likely too young to understand.

I hoped then that they received their part of the creation I left behind.

I knew I would break my father, and I hated the thought of him missing me. But I rather he grieve over my body for a while than to grieve over my mind and my failures forever. I would be selfish if I stayed then; I would only hurt my father for a very long time.

I wanted so badly for him to forgive me.

I needed him to forgive me for what I did.

My body tensed at the shame that reared its head within me, the shame that ate into my lungs, the shame that was once the ocean. Against my will, I remembered the day I caused my father pain. Against my will, I remembered the day my father stood up against my mother's illogical anger, the day my mother went to threaten him, the day I was there to witness it. I remembered being caught in the crosshairs of jagged words and growing just as angry. I wished I had kept my anger in check. I wished I had simply stayed silent instead of lashing out and triggering her into striking me hard for the first time. I should have taken it. I should have never panicked and let my anger swell. I should have never fought back and hurt her.

I hurt her and I hurt my father and I hurt my sisters when I lashed out. I set a guilt upon my father and made him think that it was his fault I lashed out, that I fell short as a son because of him. I set distrust upon my mother and made her resent me. I set fear upon my older sister and made her follow after my mother's anger, justifying it, adopting it. And I set an example for my little sisters who were peeking from their room when they were supposed to be in bed. I set an example and made them think what I did and what my mother and father did was normal.

I had hurt them all that day. I was still hurting them, just by being there, just by not being enough for them. My own hurt wasn't large enough to match how I had hurt them all.

I was procrastinating. I smiled a dark smile and realized that I was procrastinating. I could have pulled the trigger long ago. If I didn't pull the trigger then I would have nothing to return to. Nothing that brought me from beneath the ocean, nothing that gave me hope, nothing that could help me to feel real again, to feel alive again. I was dead already. Everything in my life had died and I just needed to pull the trigger and finish it all off. It would be quick and painless. The bullet would pass through my brain and my body would cease to function immediately and I would die before my head would bleed out. Emptied of thoughts, emptied of blood, emptied of life.

My body felt cold and stiff. I slumped my head and pressed the gun harder against my temple and tightened my hold on the trigger.

It would be quick and painless.

I just needed to pull it.

It would be quick and painless.

But I could not bring myself to pull.