Rating: PG-13
Trigger Warning: Suicide/Depression
Written by protectivegroping
I never thought it would end like this.
The room was dark and cold, the chill of the low thermostat crawled up my skin like the icy frost crinkling against the windows that provided a gateway to the outside world.
Words are supposed to explain your feelings, your thoughts, everything that others can't understand through physical touch or typical verbal language. I don't exactly know what I should be thinking, how to put it in my own words as the images of my life spun through my head faster than humanly possible. I can't really. It's unexplainable, especially for the unadapted human mind.
Words sometimes fail at being words. They're supposed to explain how you feel, so what happens when they can't?
My hands pulled down on my extra-large Broncos shirt that I got from my dad when I was a girl. I always wore it and pretended I was a bird, since it was so big. It always made him happy. My arms lifted slightly to make a small flapping movement, similar to that of an avian, creating an even colder breeze to run down my bony ribs. I hoped he was happy, for at least a second.
My small fingers traced circles over the silver kitchen knife sitting idly by my side, dark and tainted from dinner. Nothing seemed to be a shining light in the darkness I was surrounded in. No one was here except me.
Me and the feelings that cannot be put into words.
"I'll be back by three," the soft voice I fell for whispered into my ear a year ago, on this day. It spoke the promise of returning from work safe and sound, in time to see Caroline's baseball game. I kissed the warm cheek beside me and said, "Okay."
But of course, that time never came.
It was then the darkness sneaked in, clawing at the rawness my heart kept. Carly never played at her sports game, I never cooked a special meal for her home run, we never saw our loved one come home at three from their overly-exhausting day job at a boring office building that produced something regarding soap. Only bladed weapons and the cries of pain were there that day, in the hospital, at the graveyard, everywhere, the sharpness followed.
I wanted to see the guy rot in jail for what he did; drunk and high and crazy in the worst possible ways. He crept into my life and stabbed the very heart that I had loved. Cut so deep even I couldn't feel anything, and I was the one who wasn't even harmed.
Physically.
A small smile peeked at the corner of my pink lips, the tangy smell of Mexican fajitas flowing into my senses once again. The food I ate in the womb, and the last food I had an hour ago. I wanted it to be one of the last things I felt before I left. It's not like anything mattered anymore.
"Mommy?"
The knife was so close it stung, hugging my neck so it left me on the edge of death and life. A metaphorical play with danger. The voice came quietly from the door behind me as it opened slowly, light flooding into the darkness and on to me. The small gasp of horror didn't surprise me, "Carly, go back to sleep. It's past your bedtime."
"What are you doing..?"
"Nothing, sweet pea." Of course she knew what I was doing. She's been here since the beginning of my depression, and dealt with an unfocused mother who couldn't even get out of bed to save her life.
Not like I wanted to anyway.
"Please, don't.. Mommy, I love you," I love you too. I wanted to say it so badly, but saying it would only make things hurt more. I was being so selfish right now, leaving her alone, but I didn't know right from wrong ever since my partner left my side. Part of me was gone, and I could never get it back. What happened to our vows? What happened to those sick days, those night shifts, those hot summers, those I'm-too-pissed-to-be-around-anyone-except-for-you days? What happened to our happy ending?
Then she said something I couldn't let go, "She loves you."
