Yellow

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by Sp0okySoot

by Sp0okySoot

TWS:
Suicidal thoughts
Death
Attempted suicide
Pills
Overdose

I used to like the colour yellow, it was my happy colour, the colours of the sun, hopeful flowers, my bathroom walls. Yellow brings back memories now, memories I dont want.

February 17:
The day started wrong. I woke up late, my clothes were dirty, I missed the bus, I failed my test, I forgot my lunch. I had already told myself, if 7 things went wrong today I'd kill myself. I didnt like how my life was going and it felt pointless living, I was too scared to make the final decision so why not leave it to fate. 7 things. Not a lot but not a little, the perfect number if you ask me.

My phone beeps. A message on screen, band practice. I forgot that was today. Shit. Thats number 6, I was beginning to get quite excited. Its stupid I know, excited about killing myself, how DUMB, but I didnt care, I wasnt going to be here to care.

Classes had finished and I got home without getting to 7, the excitement beginning to drain. Fate had given up on me like everything else in this life.

I go upstairs, glancing at the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, how I wish to down all those pills at once- Tommy. He was stood in my way, blocking the bedroom door. What did he want? The question I will only imagine an answer to. I changed plans and went into Alex's room instead. He had left for college a few months ago and had the only door with a lock. Click.

I lay on his bed, it was left made even though he had gone. Yellow sheets. I watched the sun disappear off the ceiling and out the window. Was leaving the curtains open number 7? No it wouldnt count. That would be a terrible reason to go out. The door clicks, snapping me away from the thoughts. No time to question it, theres a panicked face in the doorway, bloody hands and wet cheeks. I look out the window. Blue lights. Sirens. I felt my heart drop and my stomach twist, reaching the window. My hands on the window sill and I look down. A car accident, a person, no. I could recognise that shirt anyway. This was number 7. This was me, if I hadn't been so rude, in my own head, no. No no no no. Not Tommy, anyone but Tommy.

My vision was leaving me as I stumbled across the landing, using the banister as support, the bathroom doorway, the wall, the medicine cabinet. I pushed the door shut flicking the latch. Click. Pulling the bottles off the shelf clattering into the sink, filling my hand with any and all I could grab. Swallowing every bottle I could open. I couldn't feel my legs. My hands were going numb, my vision blurring and going black. Fuck. I hit my head off the sink on the way to the floor, I felt the blood and I was gone.

Or so I believed, I wouldve preferred the outcome of being gone, but instead I was in a hospital room, monitors beeping, people mumbling as I came back to consciousness. Phil was in a chair to my left and a nurse on my right. How annoying this was going to be.

_____

I might add more onto this piece but comfort writing is not my strong point so please imagine the scene

You get techno giving him a hug telling him hes an idiot and to never do it again. He gets more support from people around him and learns to mourn the death in a healthy way without blame or guilt 🙃