Bizzle imagines

39. Happiness (sad)

Warning: This story contains suicidal references that may disturb readers.

"Why do you keep doing y/n?" My stepmother raises her voice. "Think about our family" Her voice cracks, shaking her head at me.

My gaze trains hard on the my hospital wristband.

I've attempted another one of my failed suicide try's.

It's not my fault life is hard.

My mother passed away 5 years ago.

She was my everything. I could tell her anything and knew her love was unconditional.

My father was around yes, but he never gave me the home feeling my mother emitted.
He remarried 4 years ago, only a year after mother left us forever. It was so fast, I was still grieving, still am.

He seemed to have blocked out his life with my mom, 14 years it was. Too little.

Now he's with Maria Roseville, a thin, big boobed, tanned housewife. She could be Italian mobsters wife if she wanted to be.

I didn't like her from the start but made it work, for my fathers sake.

She's got a son who's 21 and still lives at home. His names Justin and he's probably the only thing that keeps me sane these days.

We clicked right away, sharing the same humor. He's nothing like his mother. Sure he loves her but he's a kindhearted, decent human being, unlike her.

But even one good human being doesn't fix all your troubles.

It's you who has to help yourself.

It's 11pm on a Tuesday and I sit here in a hospital bed.

My father wanted to come pick me up but he's 2 hours away on a business trip. He's supposedly speeding down the highway at this very moment.

See my father is the serious type but still a worried parent. If only he was concerned about me before this happened. And it's not the first time.

Do people just not care about me? Guess so.

Maria is conservative and straight laced. She thinks this whole "depression" thing is disgusting and a disgrace to our "family".

Lucky her, she was the one to come pick me up. I never want to face this woman again.

I'm 18 now. I need to leave, start fresh. Do my own thing, live the life my mother would've wanted me to live; a good one.

Tonight was my 3rd attempt to take my life.

Ever since my mom died everything's just gone downhill.

While everyone is doing fine, I'm struggling to stay afloat.

I cut my wrist and knocked out. I swear I saw the light or..at least something. But no here I am, back to what they call life.

Great. Just great.

Maria huffs and leaves the empty hospital room. I look out the window to my right and see the city lights seeping through the dark.

Something about city lights seem so calming to me. Just staring at them make me forget about reality for a second.

A quiet beep sounds from a machine beside my bed, snapping me back to the present.

I don't remember the last time I felt truly happy. Probably before my mother passed. It's so hard to work at being happy. Why can't it just happen? It's seriously a struggle for me to feel some sort of hope or..light.