Comfortably Numb (Kellic)

Chapter Ten

×Major trigger warning for suicidal minds.

Rain poured. Not the enjoyable kind. The kind that's sticky and cold and you wanna just curl up in a ball in a hole in the ground. The kind that reflects my mood entirely: cold and uncomfortable. I usually love rain and everything about it but hell, I'm having a hard time trying not to hate absolutely everything to which I'm failing miserably at.

I love nature, but that's not even helping now. A suicidal person can love the world but hate the egotistical bastards that corrupt and inhabit it. Personally, I think I might be just fine if the world was engulfed in flames as long as I went with it. Maybe I'd like that. Though I don't know about the smell of burning flesh. Drowning perhaps? I've never thought about that. It'd take merely minutes and you'd be gone. That could be fun.

The hum of an oncoming car left me to curse the world and wonder how I get so fucking unlucky. A wall of water collided with my already shivering body. I couldn't help but mumble a slur of profanity. Water again, is beautifully destructive. Including within forms of hypothermia which I'm coming to think I'm developing. Tell me, Kellin, what made you think it was a smart idea to walk home from therapy?

Mr Irwin would've given me a ride whereas Chris couldn't give two fucks and maybe I shouldn't be so hypocritical because I don't care about myself either.

A football collided with my ribcage, knocking every ounce of breath from my lungs and I couldn't get so lucky because it came back. I wonder what it's like to not breathe. I could only hope that one day I'd gasp for air and it wouldn't be there.

Snickers came from the field I just so happened to be walking by. Sykes and his gang were soaked as well, but they've practice. It's not exactly their choice and I'm assuming they have enough time to spare for my downfall which would inevitability come, just not by their hands of course. I'm horribly selfish that way.

"Where's your boyfriend eh fag?" Sykes spat, pulling me from the ground that I would've much rather remained on for the rest of my pitiful existence.

Boyfriend? Not just no, but hell fuck no. He's charming and all but his persistence is nerve wracking.

"Maybe that's where he's off too." Ben's lack of intelligence was furthermore noted by the half-brained laugh he choked out too easily. The stereotypical idiotic laugh that could only lead you to think they're half asleep or just remain in such a blurred state of mind or maybe they just don't fucking care.

They all smirked a bit, one guy making an extremely obscene sexual gesture that I'd pretend to not have seen.

"Cut lately?" Ben jerked the sleeves of my jumper down to only be faced with a massive amount of bracelets. I couldn't help but laugh in such a maniacal way.

"Fucking emo fag." He said, shoving my arm towards me quite roughly. Maybe he'd shove it hard enough one day and it'd fall off. Or perhaps he'd push me so hard I'd finally break into pieces right there.

The second choice use of the word made me flinch. Not because the way said it, but because that's literally the only thing they can offend me with. Fag, queer, homo, the words I've heard repeatedly since I've ever came out. The way I love is the only thing they can tear down.

A whistle was heard in the distance, saving me from the mob. Quite thankfully may I add. Though not before they all threw one more homophobic slur my way or something regarding the presumed harm of myself. None of them knew I don't think. It may be a biased veiw but I think I hide it pretty well.

I won't have to for long. I won't have to do anything for long. The only issue within that is getting Vic sidetracked long enough. Maybe I could pretend I actually love myself and the entirety of my existence. Though that proves quite difficult. Believe me, I've tried.

Hopefully I'd make it home before Vic happens to drive by and see my shaking form waddling home. Mother wouldn't, that's for sure. She's at home doing god knows what. Probably her boyfriend. I should give her a break. After all, she's been trying. She's made an effort, but then again, so have I. I've tried at life. I've tried to make an effort in getting better and I'm still more concerned with ending it rather seeing what my future holds. We all deserve a chance, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's going to work out. Nothing really does. Not for me at least.

I'm terribly optimistic, aren't I?

The rain started dying down only slightly. It was more of a mist now. A cool wind blew, chilling me to the bone. It sent a shiver up my spine in all the wrong ways. I cringed a bit.

I saw my house in the distance. The fork in the road was more visible, particularly the red stop sign at the end that had profanities spray painted on the back. If vandalism happened to be offered in school, this town would have more graduates than its low number we currently have.

I pushed open the door that felt a bit heavier than it has typically been. Lately, I've felt heavier in every sense of the word. I have to force my legs to move, I have to force my lungs to breath, I have to force myself to live and I don't even want to. The world feels like it's pulling me under, literally. Everything hurts.

What happened to me? Up until the age of fifteen, I was sort of happy. The world didn't bother me as much, though I knew just how horrid it really was. I guess maybe the rejection of my sexuality set it in stone just how terrible everything is. The downfall of myself- I don't know. I went to a blade for comfort, and like I've said before, it's a downward spiral from there.

At some point in time, I believe I did want to get better. When the idea of that happening left, so did the care I ever possessed for myself.

Though I think I still have some form of care. Ending my own life could be so simple. I could've thrown myself in front of a car, or jumped off a bridge. The fact I didn't gave me some sense of recovery that felt all too foreign. I hate it. The hope made me want to throw up. I quickly shoved the thought from my mind and I forced myself up the stairs.

Before I even got to the top I had a sheen of sweat on my forehead and was panting. Wow, I'm so out of shape. We should've known this, Kellin.

I pushed the door to my bedroom open, shutting it behind me. With a second thought, I flipped the lock.

I stripped of my outer layer slowly. My bones ached for whatever reason. This feels like an incurable sickness. Which perhaps it is. It doesn't ever really go away. Not unless you have pills for that. I don't. I never have. They gave me a prescription when I left because someone assumed it was some mental disorder. Just a case of insanity, miss. We're all a bit mad inside though. I threw the bottle away once I got home. They wouldn't make a difference. I won't be here long enough to make them count.

Until I can leave, I have to settle with my friends in the draw beside my bed. They'd do for now, but not for long.

My plan for leaving seems too simplistic. Leaving the world is too simplistic for it to be a sin. Taking ones own life is too simplistic. Everything is so fucking simple but I'm finding it hard to do. My earlier thoughts surfaced once again. Jumping off a bridge, or in front of a car, drowning yourself; it's so easy. So why haven't I killed myself off already? I'm too much of a goddamn coward.

Mother has a whole medicine cabinet full of prescription drugs. I could over dose quite easily. Take such a massive amount they couldn't pump my stomach. Mother wouldn't notice until it was too late. I'd already be passed out and covered in vomit, and maybe perhaps with a still heart. It's too easy. Not yet though. I'm waiting for something. I don't know what, but I'm waiting.

For now, I'd pull my friends out. They'd visit me in the tub once again. The cool metal tearing at my pale, scar littered skin. Part of me would hope I'd bleed just a bit too much to be safe. The thoughts are only a side effect of the blood loss. Or at least that's what I'd like to tell myself.

Let's see how deep I can go and still wake up.