smoke

clinomania - a short story about depression and suicide

trigger warning

❝ Heather enjoyed sleeping more than anything. So much, in fact, that one day she went to sleep, and she never woke up.❞

It was a good day for Heather. 

She wasn't bullied as much compared to the previous day (everyone simply ignored her). Not to mention, she didn't have to worry about any homework or assignments. She could go straight back home and sleep. Because that's the only thing she enjoyed:

Sleep.

Sleeping was nice; she'd forget about everything for a while. Too bad it was shortlived, and the next day she would be preparing for a series of emotional, verbal, and physical abuse. Without even bothering to slip into more comfortable attire, she silently crept beneath the covers, pulling them closer to her body as time stood still while her young mind blocked out the horror and pain lived out each and every day. She slowly sank into a deep, abysmal slumber.

She awoke the next day to the violent ringing of her phone’s alarm. 

She didn't want to wake up. She was having a much better time asleep. And that terrified her. Normally people awake from nightmares, relieved. But Heather... Heather awoke to a nightmare.

She realized she was dressed in yesterday’s clothing and, feeling as though no one would really care, decided against changing. It wasn’t like anyone would notice.

It was a bad day for Heather. Far worse than the usual. 

All she wanted to do was go back home and cry herself to sleep. She collapsed on her bed. She wanted so badly to fall asleep, but her brain wouldn't stop talking to itself.

Her lips quivered as she felt the tears coursing down her cheeks, staining her pillow. Nobody but that pillow knew of her tears, and that thought made her sob harder. 

She couldn't take it anymore.

Shivering from head to toe, she stumbled to the bathroom, blinded by the stinging tears. She tripped on her own feet, thankfully managing to steady herself on the sink. She stood still for a minute, before lifting her head up to meet her reflection in the mirror. In that fleeting second, every insult, every sneer seemed to flash before her very eyes.

“Heather, you’re such a slut.” She was a virgin.

“How much fatter can you get?” She hardly ate at school.

“Ha, what a nerd.” She was failing too many classes to count.

An endless array of abuse, and so much yet to come.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she mumbled to herself, hauling the medicine cabinet open. “I can’t. I fucking can’t.” 

Moving her hand frantically through the cabinet, dropping several bottles and pills in the process, she fished for the aspirin. Once she’d seized hold of the pills, she staggered back to her room and disintegrated on her bed. She swallowed the pills, one by one, counting up to fifty. It wasn't an action. It was a submission.

This seemed to numb out the voices in her head, and she found the strength to cry herself to sleep. 

She rest her head gently back against the pillow. Surely someone would find her sooner or later. Even if she was no more than a decaying skeleton by then.

Before she slipped into death, however, she grabbed a scrap of paper from her bedside table and hastily scribbled four words onto it: "Don't wake me up." 

It's not that she wanted to die; it's just that she didn't want to live.

A/N

i had to get this written down. i just discovered that a friend of mine, a very close one, was suicidal. and that broke my heart. it was also a shock, because i honestly would've never guessed that she was depressed. she always seemed so happy. i guess looks can be deceiving. this story isn't really about my friend, just about depression and suicide. but anyway, i wrote this because i had to get my feelings down somewhere and yeah. i hope you liked it. if you did, please vote and comment.