Sticks and Stones

Chapter 4

I stopped cutting my arms and legs but my depression didn't go away. I put on a smile for my friends and since they couldn't see my cuts they were fooled by my masquerade. On the outside I looked like a quiet, introverted girl, but on the inside I was struggling to breathe. I was plagued with a never-ending flow of suicidal thoughts.

On night I came home to an empty house. My parents were still at work and I was home alone. I threw my book bag on the floor and headed into the kitchen. Sitting on the counter was a bottle of ibuprofen. I froze in my tracks. One of my parents must have used it this morning and had forgotten to put it back. A single thought popped into my head. I could take care of everyone's problem right now and end my life. No one would care if I died. I would be doing them a favor, getting rid of the annoying, worthless person I was. My shaking hands reached out, wrapping around the bottle and drawing it closer. I opened the lid and dumped them out on the counter. White tablets spread all over the counter. I counted them: 81. 81 tablets. More than enough to end my life. A smile crept into my face as I pictured finally being free. I took out a sheet of paper and a pen and wrote a note to my parents, telling them what happened, and not to worry. I scooped the pills into my hand and walked out of the house, grabbing a bottle of water, and locking the doors behind me. I continued through the backyard and into the woods behind my house. I sat down, leaning back against the trunk of a tree. I stared at the pills in my hand knowing that I was the point of no return, there was no going back now. I whispered a final goodbye to the world and downed the pills. All 81 of them. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the trunk. A calm came over me as I let the fake peace of the pills carry me away. The rest of the story is a blur of memories: frantic shouts, flashes of light, sirens. I was being carried through a field and loaded into an ambulance. At the hospital I was rolled down a long a hallway and into a surgery room. The last thing I saw before I lost consciousness was the oxygen mask going over my face. I woke up laying in a hospital bed with doctors surrounding me. They told me that they had gotten the ibuprofen out of my system but I would be temporarily paralyzed from the waist down for a couple of weeks. I laid back on my pillow and closed my eyes. Tears leaked down my face as I lay there, my dream of freedom shattered.

And now we reach the end of my story, or almost. I live a normal teenage life now. My scars are still visible but they serve as a reminder to be brave. Nowadays I don't care what people say because I know that I am enough, and that I am loved by my family and friends.