I really want to die right now. I can’t find my razor blade anywhere. Now that I remember, I think I threw it out. I remember, now. I threw it away because I thought that a little hope had shown. I thought that everything would be okay, but it’s not. It will never be okay. My life is falling apart.
My name is Desiree Andersons. I’m 19. Yes, I’m an adult. I’m mature enough to understand that I shouldn’t be going through these depression thoughts. But I am. Why do you think my life is so horrible? I’m alone. Since the age of twelve I’ve been alone.
I knew what it meant to die by the age of twelve. So when both of my parents were murdered in front of my own eyes, I understood that I would never see them again. The police got to my house just as the murderer was about to shoot me and my older sister Dakota. Which was unfortunate.
After our parents died, we moved in with my aunt and her abusive husband. He would hit both Dakota and I, along with my aunt if we didn’t do what he wanted. Dakota was older than me by four years. She was going through serious depression. I would hear her sobbing in her room every night. Sometimes, I would go in there and we would hold each other with just the sound of each other’s sniffling.
I thought, maybe we could make it through this. Maybe we can survive our twisted lives together. Everything came crashing down when I found Dakota on the floor. Her face was pale, with dead eyes. Pills were spread out around her. She killed herself. I was fourteen by that time. She was getting ready to move out.
My aunt couldn’t take care of me anymore. She didn’t want to see me getting hurt. My uncle didn’t even care about me or Dakota. The only thing he could care about when the funeral came is when my aunt would be back with his beer.
I begged my aunt to keep me until I was old enough to afford my own apartment. She agreed with it, even though she hesitated. My uncle was glad that he still had an extra worker. He was glad that I would be his small toy.
School was just as worse as my home life. Everyone knew me as the “Depressed Girl” or the “One who’s going to end up killing herself.” They were probably right. Just like my sister, I’m going to end up killing myself. I had no friends, and no one to talk to. When I was put into group projects, I would be told to do the work or I’ll pay for it.
The only person I had was my aunt, and she was falling apart herself. Who wouldn’t be breaking if they’re brother died, along with his beautiful wife and their child. She understood me. She told me that one day, the both of us are going to run far away from this life. I know now, by the age of nineteen that she meant death. She meant to end her life. As soon as I left, she shot herself. That’s when I knew that I was truly alone.
I didn’t ask for this. I never wanted my parents to be murdered by a crazy man. I didn’t want my sister to commit suicide along with my aunt afterwards. I didn;’t want any of this. So why me? Why did I deserve any of this?
My family was one of those families that people wish they had. We had a few arguments every now and then, but in the end we were all together.
Dakota was beautiful. She had bright green eyes with darker specks of green scattered around. Her hair was long and silky. It would travel down her back in loose curls. It was dark brown like moms but had a few blonde streaks from dad. She was tall, and healthy. Her skin was a beautiful tan, and when we were together her smile would brighten more than it did. When my parents died, she died inside too. Her skin became paler, and she became too skinny. She cared less for her hair, and her smile was sadder. I missed her old self.
My mother looked familiar to Dakota. Her hair was shoulder length, and she had the same eyes as her. She had a wonderful smile as bright as the sun. When she laughed, her nose would crinkle in a funny, yet beautiful way. I loved her so much.
My dad was strong. His hair was a dark blonde and his eyes were blue with darker specks of blue surrounding them. He had a charming smile, that’s how mom fell in love with him. Mom and him would hold hands where ever they went. They would let people know that they love each other.
People always said that I looked just like Dakota. My hair was the same colour as hers, minus the blonde streaks. We had the same type of body, tall and thin. Our smiles were also the same, but I think hers was a little brighter. The only thing that is different is that I have blue eyes with gold specks. Dakota said she was jealous of my eyes.
We were the type of family that would go out and get dinner if one of us does well on a test. Every Sunday, we had a traditional movie night. Mom would take Dakota and I shopping once a week. Dad would bring us shipping. We would go on vacations to our lake house every summer. We were so happy. Why did that have to change?
I still don’t know why the man killed our parents. When he broke into our house, all of us were snuggled on the couch watching the Little Rascals. Dad had heard something smash and went to check it out. He never came back and Mom decided to see what was wrong. Soon all of us were in the kitchen, and the man had the gun pulled out on dad.
He wanted money. Mom gave him her wallet, and Dad gave him his, just as he said. Yet, he still chose to shoot them. As soon as Dad was on the ground, I screamed. Mom dove to his body and the man shot her too. The police were banging on the door as soon as she was gone.
The man was brought to jail, and we were brought to our Aunts. And that's what happened. That’s how my life went from being the best thing ever, to being complete crap.
So here I sit on my apartment couch. Affording the money from both of my parents. Watching re-runs of the Walking Dead. I cover the scars - from being stabbed from my uncle, or cutting myself = with dads sweater. I cover myself from the winter cold with Dakota’s quilt, and I let myself breathe in the smell of my mother’s perfume that I sprayed earlier. When I do this, it feels like that they’re with me. That I’m not alone.
