I look around the room, at each individual person. Some are crying, others are stone-faced, and some look too exhausted to shed any more tears. Their responses are no shock to me.
I push off of the doorframe and walk towards my mother, squatting down in front of her. She's the biggest wreck here. My hands remain on my legs for balance, and I feel no desire to reach out and caress her tear-streaked face. I don't regret my decision, or the actions that followed.
After a few moments I stand, and turn to my grandparents. I see the silent tears on my grandfather's face, and realize this is the first time I've ever seen him cry. My grandmother is crying silently as well, but it's only because she's been crying for so long already.
I look around once again, at my aunts and uncles, my cousins, my dog. My dog is sitting beside my grandfather; she's at her usual spot. Instead of watching him, though, she's watching me. She doesn't bark, nor whimper. She sees me, but perhaps she doesn't recognize that it's me. Perhaps it's because it is me that she doesn't have a response.
"You never liked me, anyways," I try to say. In this realm, though, air does not exist. Why should it? We don't breathe. So how could we speak?
I don't feel any emotions, either. The numbness that I'd grown so familiar with is still there. I wonder if emotions are existent in this realm, either? If they are, I'm not sure if I even want to feel them anymore. Not feeling anything had become normal for me a long time ago. How could I have ever thought that death would change this?
With one last glance at my grandparents, and then my mother, I decide it's time to leave the house and wander for however long it takes me to reach where I'm supposed to go.
I don't regret wanting to die. I don't regret that it wasn't an accident that killed me. I don't regret choosing suicide over my worthlessly pointless life.
All I regret is not knowing that nothing would change once I did.
