What's The Worst That I Could Say?

Prologue

I felt like utter shit, and to be honest, I knew that I looked like it too. It was two in the freaking morning, and no matter what I did I just couldn't fall asleep. And as dandy as that was, I had to be awake in a few hours to get on a plane.

Let me introduce myself. My name is Helena Phillips, and I'm eighteen. I live in Belleville, a small 'delightful' city in New Jersey. I've lived here my entire life, unfortunately.

No, no, scrap that, that whole last two sentences I just said were a lie. I mean, I lived in Belleville, a small 'delightful' city in New Jersey, but I haven't lived there all my life. If I said that on the day that I just turned fourteen, then it would be true. But right now, it's not, so I might as well explain why.

Four years ago, probably on the last few hours before the end of my fourteenth birthday, I attempted suicide. That's right, I found a bottle of vodka, downed half of it and swallowed several pills. I also hacked the shit out of my wrists while still drunk, because to be honest, I was bored and death was taking a while to pat me on the shoulder and shuffle me along into the after life or whatever shit happens after that. 

But, being the smart person you are, you've guessed that I'm still alive. Well, congrats, here's a fucking cookie. Kudos to you, my friend. 

My best friend Gerard found me, to my misfortune. He called the ambulance and carried me out of the basement and bandaged my wrists, but there was nothing he could do about my liver. Nope, that was already fucked, and I was already dying because of it. But the ambulance came sooner than expected, and managed to get me to hospital soon enough for the doctors to save me. Don't ask how, I'm not exactly sure myself, but they did it. They did the impossible.

I wished they hadn't.

There we go, another lie. Well, it's partly true, but the burning desire to die wasn't as strong as it was back then. Back then, when I opened my eyes for the first time after the incident, I remember looking at my surroundings with distaste and realizing that I was still alive. I remember breathing in the air and wanting to choke on it, because I didn't feel as if I should be lying there, breathing it all in like that. I should be dead, so why wasn't I?

I remember turning my head and seeing my mother staring at me, eyes red and blood shot from crying. I loved my mom, don't get my wrong, but I would have rather not see her after what I did. The pills and vodka that I gulped down that poisoned me and slowly began to kill me were less painful than seeing her broken face like that. I can tell you now, well, me guessing, that it musn't be easy having a phone call from your daughter's fourteen year old best friend to hear him tell you that you're daughter has attempted to kill herself. 

It wasn't easy seeing Gerard either. In fact...that was probably worse. I did the worst thing I could do, I yelled at him with the small strength I had for saving me. I told him how much I hated the fact that I was still here...I told him I hated him, my best friend in the entire world that I hated him, and that it was his fault. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, because in all fairness, he hadn't, but I still said it. I said it a few times over, before he finally left, tears streaming down his face. In my eyes he did do something, and that was not getting there in time to help me. 

I'm not gonna explain what I just said there. It'd take to long, but I didn't explain to Gerard either and just let him walk out of that hospital feeling like as I can only presume as a piece of shit. 

I truly was a monster.

The hospital released me after a week of crappy hospital food, psychiatrists telling me I was mentally unstable and the worried gaze of doctors, but I didn't want to come home. I actually tried to kill myself a few hours after stepping through my front door- and that was when mom had enough. She sent me away to fucking Wisconsin, and left me there with my grandma.

I'm very much glad she did.

Gran was better than a psychiatrist, she didn't tell me how I was feeling or class me as a fucking psycho. She was much better than my mom and Gerard put together. She was yet another saviour in my life, and she didn't actually do much to save me. 

Don't ask how for that either, because I have no idea. She just did. And I gradually began to get better. I went back to school in Wisconsin after around a month, and settled in there quietly. It was a kind of 'special' school, for challenged kids. I didn't think of myself as challenged, and neither did my grandma, but my mom just wanted me to be 'safe'. Whatever.

I wasn't at all popular in my new school, and people didn't ever really bother me. I had the occasional few when I started, asking me if I was an emo and shit. I just shrugged and told them I didn't care much for labels or what people thought of me anymore, so they could do what they wanted. To my sort of shock, they kind of respected what I said and didn't bother me. The high school I went to there was probably one of the best high schools you could ever get in the states, the main reason for me being that the kids there didn't give a shit. That made me fit in more, the fact that I didn't give a shit about what people thought anymore.

Heh, it's funny, actually, how much I changed in the short space of time between those few months. I went from this kid who was never happy with what she had or who she was, and cared about peoples opinions to somebody who didn't care. Somebody who became an individual, and realized that I didn't need to make myself someone I wasn't to fit in. In fact, thinking about it, I'm glad that I didn't become popular, I would've hated it.

I'm also glad that I tried to commit suicide, because I've made myself what I am today, which I'm much more happier with...

But what I'm not glad about is the fact that I ruined my relationship with my mom and my best friend. A day doesn't go by when I don't think of them both, especially Gerard...

That's why I'm going back, to Belleville, to make amends, to put things right. I refuse to hide up here in Wisconsin and just let the years continue to fly by without at least an apology. Gran respects my decision, and is actually paying for me to fly back.

We've obviously told mom, and she's delighted. Sure, she's nervous, but like I said, pretty much delighted. She asked me if I wanted her to tell Gerard or not, and I simply told her that if she felt it was the right thing to do then she would, but I didn't really mind. I'd end up seeing him at one point, whether it being at school or walking across our front yards and seeing each other. 

I don't know what'll happen when I see him. I don't know if he'll be happy to see me or not. I fucking wrecked him, because I was so fucked up at the time and selfish. 

I don't know if things'll get better with mom, and she might be able to trust me with a butter knife or not. 

But what I do know, is that I'm not putting up without a fight to gain back the people I love before crashing and burning- if I do, that is.