Fall

This is it. I’m over life. So god-damn over it. Nothing is worth this kind of pain and torture. I envy my dad, who died six months ago. I wish I was with him. Dead.

It was November 19th 2011, when Dad died. Car crash. And just like that, he was gone from my life forever. Mum broke down. Didn’t speak, or move for a month after the funeral. I had to look after myself. 15 years old and already looking after a baby. Or at least that’s how I saw it. Cooking, cleaning, and trying to keep things in order. That’s a lot of work for a kid; I still don’t know how Mum manages to do it. I felt like I was losing my childhood, my chance to be a rebellious teenager. Just so I could look after my ‘dead-to-the-world’ mother.

December, Mum stayed in her room, cuddling Dad’s old robe, the fluffy one he’d wear when the fire was lit, sitting in his big armchair, sipping a glass of whisky. She cried late into the night. I’d sit outside her bedroom door and listen to her muffled sobs. I didn’t cry. I missed him. But I felt like I needed to be the strong one, strong enough for both of us. So I refused to let myself cry.

January came and went. A new year, a new beginning. Mum started to come back to me. She started cooking again, something she had always loved. We had family come and stay, although things were weird, awkward even, without Dad around to make lame jokes and keep everyone entertained. I stayed in my room most of the time, curtains shut, huddled under the blankets. Things started to go back to normal. Almost. Mum avoided talking about the past. She wouldn’t go to the beach to visit Dad’s family. If they wanted to see us, they had to come stay in the city. I missed the way life used to be. I still do.

February, school started. I turned away from my friends. I didn’t want to talk to them. Didn’t want to see them. I just wanted to leave school. Leave everything behind and stay hiding under my blankets forever. But Mum wouldn’t let me. So I shut everyone out. Teachers, friends, the councilor. After almost a month, everyone stopped trying and left me alone. I admit I felt lonely, and with that loneliness, came the anorexia. I wanted help, needed it, but I suppose if you don’t actually let people help you, they’re not going to bother. My school work went downhill. I used to be in the top of the class, work done on time, to a high standard. Well, that changed.

March, a strange thing happened; I decided to go out to a friend’s house, try get myself back into society. Create myself a new social life. I walked around to one of my old best-friends house and knocked on the door. She was so surprised to see me. But she let me in and we watched movies and ate popcorn and had a nice night in. It had been a long time since I’d felt anything near happy but that was the best I’d felt in ages. I left her house in an almost good mood and started the walk home. It was dark, just gone 10pm, it wasn’t a long walk, but I felt on edge as I passed by the pub. I kept my head down and my feet moving. But I knew I was being followed. I took a chance and stopped. Turned around, there he was. Wearing a big jacket, pants already around his ankles. I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he grabbed me. I screamed but no-one heard me.

April. I was scared I might be pregnant. But I wasn’t. At least God loved me enough to grant me that one wish. But the blackness continued to creep in, blocking my vision, tainting my sense of wrong and right. I fell into depression. Spiraling out of control, I started drinking, moved onto drugs, became the ‘town slut’. Anything I could do to make myself feel at least a little bit wanted, I’d do it. I hated my life. I still do. Nothing’s changed. I would sit in my room if I was home at night, door locked, Mum pounding her fists against it, begging me to let her in. I’d sit there. Thinking about my life, and the things I regretted. I never even got to properly mourn my Dad. I never let one tear fall since his death. I fell deeper and deeper into the darkness. Until I finally hit the bottom.

And that leads me to now. This moment. I’m staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Dark, sunken eyes, long black hair in a tangled, knotty mess, hanging limp around my shoulders. All skin and bones, I am. I can see my ribs, through my thin singlet. I hate myself, my life, who I am and who I’ve become. I hate Mum for disappearing when Dad died. I hate Dad for leaving me. I hate it all.

I grab the thick woolen jacket hanging on the door handle and leave the apartment, and my life behind. I take the elevator to the top floor and let myself out onto the roof of the 15 story apartment block. I’m standing here now. On the ledge of the roof, looking down on the city, reflecting on my life. I wonder if anyone will miss me, what Mum will do, who will come to the funeral. But none of that matters now. I take a long deep breath, say goodbye to the cruel world that is below. I step off the ledge and simply, fall.