His Hidden Little Secrets

June 7th After Death of Carter- pt. 2

I stare at myself in the mirror as I hold the sapphire necklace that Carter gave me 6 months ago in my hand. My face and my hair look like a wreck, but I don't care. Whenever I wear Carter's necklace, it makes me feel so beautiful, no matter how ugly I really look. Because that's what Carter repeatedly told me again and again; that I was beautiful.

Damn, I need him so much right now.

One of the things that kills me the most is that the cops never found Carter's body. They searched for over a month in that river, but it seems as if he was carried away by the current.

Or disappeared completely.

They did find his wallet and his beanie in the river a few days after his death, because they both washed up on shore. After further investigation, I was told that I could keep his beanie, and at first I was happy to be able to have another "piece" of him.

But one night, several weeks after he died, I got so upset about his passing that I broke down, went outside to the fire pit, struck a match, and burned that soft, lavender-colored beanie to shreds. I sobbed and practically screamed as it burned, and I was doing this all so loudly that my next-door neighbor called my parents, who were out to dinner. My neighbor thought that I was either going insane or having a heart attack, my mother told me later. She thought that she was going to have to call 911 if I didn't calm down.

My parents rushed home to find me curled on the ground, shaking, and throwing the beanies ashes everywhere, telling the ashes to "go die with Carter, and I'll follow you," over and over again. My dad picked me up off of the ground, and he and Mom drove me to the hospital, fearing that I was going to kill myself or something. I was sobbing violently the whole time and I couldn't control myself.

I spent the night at the hospital, and when I woke up, the doctor told me that I had a severe panic attack and "suicidal thoughts", so they were going to transport me to the mental health area of the hospital so that they could "keep an eye on me."

After 3 more days there, I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (though I didn't witness the suicide), put on medication to help with that, and referred to several therapists. I hated that I was like this and like one of "those" people. I felt like I was a psychopath. But mostly, I was numb. I needed to feel something.

I wanted to feel something other than mental pain.

So the day after I got home from the hospital, I broke a pencil sharpener, and held the blade to the turquoise veins on my wrist.

I'm sorry, Carter. I'm sorry I failed you.