Seventeen Years of Despondency

The Almost End

It's 5:45am and my eyes have just met the morning sun. I sigh. This is the last time I'll ever see the sun rise.

I walk over to my window, climbing out and sitting on top of the cool, dew covered roof, to watch the sun beam over the inflamed horizon. Little by little, more and more brighter streaks of sunlight, make their way into the tangerine tinted atmosphere.

"It's time to say goodbye," I breathe quietly into the open air. It's a good thing mom gets up before the sun.

I trace my fingers down the wooden railing on the staircase as I make my way downstairs to see her. She looks so peaceful sitting there in her baby pink coloured dressing gown and fuzzy slippers. She looks so comfortable. I wish I was comfortable in my own shoes.

I crawl beside her on the depressing couch that I absolutely hate, into her arms, and demanding attention in the form of a hug.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she asks wrapping her arms around me and setting the newspaper down on the coffee table.

"Nothing," I smile into her lap. "I love you."

"I love you too." she laughs quietly.

After saying my goodbyes, I continue on with the next step; writing down my feelings.

Dear no one,

I've had enough of this sick, cruel, twisted world. I've locked myself in the bathroom and these will be my last words.

Its hard, too hard. And I'm afraid. Everything I'm afraid of is happening around me. And its time for me to go, my life has come to an end. But don't be sad. Was it your fault? You'll never know. But while I was breathing, were you listening? To my pain, my concerns, my feelings? No, so why are you sad? This is to make me feel good, not to make you feel bad. I can't feel good with constant putdowns. I cant feel good with someone who cannot be there. I cant feel good by myself on this earth. But I can feel good in my own casket. I can feel good whether I'm down below in hell or flying high in heaven.

Just know, whether you loved me or not, I did. Whether you listened or not, I spoke. Whether you will miss me or not, I'm dying today. My life has reached an end. I'm sorry I couldn't be helped, but this is me finally accepting to help myself. There are no exits except one, a hand full of pills, and a determination to end my despair.

Goodbye. I will still love you. Forever, and always.

There, that seems to explain almost everything.

Onto the next step.

4. Get piss drunk.

I find a bottle of Jack Daniel's under my bed that I've been saving for a special occasion. I know my death isn't anything to celebrate but hey, what use is it to me if I'm laying in a coffin, 6 feet underground?

An hour later, I have one less bottle under my bed, and I can't seem to walk straight. I bring the bottle to the bathroom with me, not leaving behind the last two sips that I could still digest and open the medicine cupboard above the bathroom vanity. I pick out a few half-filled bottles packed with all sorts of colourful pills. Blues, reds, and shades of white, dazzle in my hands as I pick out the ones I choose to swallow.

Morphine; for the pain. Advil; for the everlasting ache in my head. Benzodiazepine's; to numb me from my emotions. Some of Mom's sleeping pills; to allow me to enter my eternal sleep. And a little bit of my trusty friend Jack Daniel's to wash it all away.

I take the first handful of pills and swallow it with a sip from the bottle. After letting that make it's way down past my throat violently, I take the second handful, and with the last swish of alcohol, it takes it's effects almost immediately, and I fall to the tiled floor laying their lifeless.

My mother hears my head hit the floor with a bang and takes her glasses off, frowning. She then hears the glass bottle shatter against the floor, spreading across the tiles like a flood of gushing water, and she gets the message. She realises that I've hit the floor and fell. She realises that I was in fact enduring pain this morning, and every other moment of every other day. She realises that something is wrong, something is terribly wrong, and in that second, she ran. She ran like no mother had ever run before. She sprinted straight to the bathroom pounding against the door with her two fists, crying out my name. And she used all of her force to break down the door and scoop me up in her arms.

"Astrid, please," she cries, rocking me in her arms, "Wake up my baby, wake up."

"Please wakeup. I love you." she repeats, "Please wake up." But I couldn't move. I was empty.

I felt motionless. Like my whole life was a black and white film and I was the impotent white specs on the plastic sheets. Useless, insignificant. As if I were to disappear, the whole world wouldn't budge even a bit. The world doesn't need someone like me. The world doesn't need a suicide girl. Who would love a suicide girl? Surely not him.

She called the ambulance and in a matter of minutes and I was carried out of that blue bathroom in a stretcher.

She wouldn't leave my side for the whole trip, and she wouldn't stop crying. If only she just read the godamn note.

The nurses had to literally drag her away from me as I was taken into the other room at the hospital, but she just kept screaming at them to let her "see her baby", while I was in the other room, fading away more and more by the second. Everything was black, and I was barely alive. That's the way I wanted it to stay.