If I Die Tomorrow

I want to die

I want to die.

I always said that. I always thought that. It was my go-to, the thing that was easiest to think of. It was my easy way out.

Then I heard someone else say that, my best friend, before she flung herself off of a building and splattered onto the pavement on the last day of fourth grade.

I moved. I made new friends. I acted happy. I tried to forget.

I love my life.

I told myself that all the time. I tried to make it true. It hurt.

I want to die.

It came back in high school. I had begun to forget. Yet I still remembered. Every. Single. Aching. Detail. And it weighed down. A lot. And it hurt.

I wanted to be in control of the pain. If I was going to hurt, I wanted to be the one to cause it.

A little razor blade helped me.

I want to die.

That little phrase echoed over and over again. In my head, in my work, in my dreams. That memory from fourth grade replayed again and again throughout the day.

Sometimes, wishes don't get granted. Sometimes they do. Maybe it is really only the mindset that changes things.

I want to die.

I love my life.

I want to die.