Depression. That soul sucking word itself. It has taken my life away from me for what feels like so long.
I was done, I was going to do that God awful thing that you are taught growing up, is a sin. I was going to kill myself. I brought my suicide notes out and left them on the coffee table. I stared at them for a while before walking around my flat for one last time. It's funny, I held on to those notes for a long time. Writing to people I met I've found that impacted my life.
Georges was the longest. I had so much to tell him and I swear I would still be writing to this minute. I had to cut myself short. I don't think there would be enough paper in the world to write all that I wanted to to George.
I arrived in the bathroom, just where I wanted to be when I died. In the warm water, hopefully peaceful.
I filled the bath tub with water and climbed in. I dressed myself in my favorite gown. I don't know why exactly, but I felt the need to where something beautiful when I died. It made so sense.
I took out my old friend, my razor blade.
I took a a few minutes to stare at the ceiling, listening to my own breathing. I was crying now. Not because I was afraid of dying but afraid of what I was missing out on. Mostly George and the sex.
I took the blade to my wrist and with one swift movement, there was blood pouring from my wrist. I did the same to my other wrist even though at this point it was hard to hold the razor blade.
I heard the apartment door open and felt my vision becoming hazier. Damn my timing.
"Honey I'm home." I heard his deep voice call. "Where are you?"
His voice was coming closer now and I felt a weight on my chest.
"No." I whispered to no one.
"Y/n?" God he was so close to finding me. I didn't want him to. I didn't want him to have to feel like he was responsible for my death.
I heard the door open and a scream.
"Stay with me baby. Stay with me." I saw him, he was blurry and crying.
I heard him call an ambulance.
"I love you, stay with me." He was crying so much and so loudly. I've never seen him cry before.
Nothing.
I opened my eyes to bright lights and the sound of a heart monitor. I turned my head and saw George in a chair sleeping. His face was red and he smelled strongly of weed and cigarettes. I reached my hand to his. He stirred for a few seconds before opening his eyes.
"Oh thank God." He whispered.
"What happened?"
"You tried to kill your self."
I looked down at my bandaged arms.
"You've been out of it for three days." He said as he reached for my hand.
"I'm sorry, you didn't deserve to come home to see that." I said meeting his eyes.
"You could've talked to me, love. I'm always here for you. I love you so much."
"I love you too."
Authors note:
I'm sorry if this is terrible, it's the first one I've written. Requests are open xx
