Dangling

Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

Sydney's pov -- >

I sat there. Staring into space. The wind brushing against my soft, tear stained, burning red cheeks. My eye lids were heavy like weights and my mouth was dry like the desert. My feet, dangling on the rooftop of the building, 45 stories high. I swung my legs back and forth. The breeze, I could feel, weaving in and out of my toes. The wind was picking up, and my body had almost gone completely limp, I was vulnerable to falling, but I didn't care.

Nothing mattered anymore. My depression and eating disorder was taking over my life. My anxiety, getting worse by the day. My ocd consuming my every thought. My life was a complete and utter mess.  I'm not happy. I could never be happy. My life was strangling me. Killing me on its own.

What was worse is that I'm only sixteen years old. At sixteen I should be wanting to go out and party and having fun with my friends. Making memories, having a boyfriend, someone to love me and take care of me. But who could love a suicidal girl. Who would ever love me? No one. I've been cursed with all this bullshit that I can't fix. Why? Why did it have to be me? Why did ALL of this have to happen to me? I mean I have so many things wrong with me I think I've lost count.

My medicine doesn't do anything for me anymore. It's more of a daily routine, taking it every day. Not to mention I have anger issues and I'm super sensitive at times. There's no in between with me. One extreme to the next. It's just all too much. And on top of all of that, everyone at school hates me. I haven't done anything wrong to anyone, and I get hated on all the fucking time, there's no end to it. Ever...

 I can't have any type of online "social media" without either; getting made fun of (that I'm fat, ugly, worthless, stupid), Being told that I'm an attention whore, or even being told to kill  myself. I knew one day I would, I just didn't know it would be this soon to be honest with you. It just gets tiring. I'm done trying to please everyone, when in the end I usually end up getting hurt and all of my problems get worse. No one gives a shit about me. No one listens to my problems. Never. I'm just everyone's punching bag. But it's not like I have anything going for me. I'm going nowhere in life. I'm not smart. I'm not talented.

I mean yeah, I play the piano. I have for the past eight years. I've been playing the guitar for almost two years. I can kind of draw but I'm not spectacular at it. Some people say I have a decent voice. But see, when you have depression and anxiety and self-image problems, everything that's told to you, it's just another lie people fill your heads with. Nothing's true. It's just them feeling bad for you so they make something up because they think "oh fuck I don't want to be the cause of their suicide." At this point everyone in my whole school knows I'm depressed and that's probably why I don't have friends.  I'm just done with everything. I can't take it anymore. 

My wrists and thighs were completely stained red.

My sleep shorts were drenched with dark red blood.

I took one of my hands and brushed my fingers down my wrist, as you would in a library dragging your finger down the back binding of the books. It was wet and bumpy, and oddly, I liked the feeling of it.

My tank-top was flowing non-chalantly in the wind, letting my shirt peek over my stomach a bit. I looked down and watched the bottom hem of my tank-top dance in the wind. The baby pink silk glowed in the moons' light.

The cold breeze flowing over the small incisions all over my body. It hurt a bit but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. It actually felt nice. I slowly stood up bracing for the end of my life. Literally having my life flash before my eyes. I finally got up. Standing there. I spread my arms open, still being able to feel the breeze flow though my top.

I wiped my face one last time. As I brought my hand down from my face, I looked down at it. So much black mascara all over my fingertips. I rubbed my fingers together and then I wiped it on the back of my shorts.

I placed my arms back up, spread out in the air, as if I was giving the world a hug. I closed my eyes and took one deep breath. Breathing in the musky smell of the Dublin city air. I kept my arms up in the same position for a while. I tiptoed my way around the ledge of the whole rooftop. I pranced around it like a little school girl going in for first day of primary school.

Blood trickled down my arms and legs and created little circles of red liquid everywhere but I didn't mind it, although I was getting a bit light-headed, but I didn't mind that either. I got glances of so many things. So many beautiful things.

The little coffee shop across my apartment building. A group of couples coming out of the local movie theatre. All the trees in the city. Cars zooming by on the road. The loud honking of the angry drivers who had to make their way home from a long day of work.

 I could have sworn, I felt like someone else was up here on the building with me. You know that gut feeling that you're not alone. Yeah, that one. I turned my head side to side and took one quick glance around the blackened rooftop. I didn't see anyone so I brushed the feeling right off my shoulder because it wasn't too big of a concern to me.

All the city lights were beautiful. Twinkling in the night like stars in the sky. I looked up and watched as the real stars twinkled up in the metallic, dark purple and blue, air.  It was nice to feel peaceful, finally, after all this time. In fact it's a nice place to be before you die. 

I came right back to my original spot. I slowly closed my eyes and tipped my head back. I took one more last inhale of air through my nose. This is it. This is my last breath. I leant forward ready for the fall, but caught myself, scared shitless, as soon as I heard a deep, screaming, concerned voice. 

"What the hell are you doing?"