blue

XV

*tw/ intense descriptions of suicide*

***
I was done.

John left me in the lab, bloodied and bruised. My mom didn't hear my cries for help and if she did, she didn't care enough to answer them.

I dragged myself out before anyone found me and took me in for questioning, because I was just so tired of it. Tired of the constant questioning about my achromatopsia, about my abusive dad, and about all my other trauma.

I just wanted it to be over. I wanted my dad to go away, I wanted my mom to go away, and I wanted my problems with Ashton to go away.

But that won't happen. They won't go away, and the only person who has the power to go away is me.

I wanted to go far, far away and never come back.

I laid in the patch of grass in front of the lab, because it was as far as I could go without passing out from the pain. Luckily there were mostly just bruises, which aren't fatal. The open wounds were only small and had stopped bleeding. There was one gash on my forehead and one on my shoulder.

I buried my face in my hands and let tears spill out of me like a waterfall. What did I do to deserve all this? I mumbled into my hands between wheezes. I'm too young to feel this sad; this broken.

I am just so sad that the word sad can't describe me anymore. The word broken barely does my feelings justice. Because not only am I broken, I'm unfixable. Most of the things that break we can fix. But my heart is broken in too many more ways than in half and in many more pieces than just two. You can't fix something that has been broken for so long. Eventually, the pieces stop trying to fit together.

And it kept me thinking, once again. Questions and terrible thoughts were constantly occupying my mind.

Was I a fool to let you break down the walls of my poisoned brain?

I told Ashton my entire life story, and I didn't even leave out the bad parts like I do with everyone else. I wanted to stay with him forever, but I didn't want to wait for something that was never going to happen, so I left before he had the chance to.

That word regret might be the only word that I can associate with that memory now. Maybe if he was with me now I wouldn't be scraping my own smashed body off the ground and walking to the river.

The river I was limping to isn't just any river. This river is one that I know all too well.
I've cried and I've thought about jumping and I've spilled my thoughts and tears into this river.

I wanted it to be the one I finish my life in.

Because my life isn't a semi colon like everyone else's. My life isn't a comma, my life isn't a period. My life doesn't symbolize any other punctuation other than a little dash like this one -

because what a dash means is that it was cut off. My life is being cut off. It's not ending like a period, or continuing like a semi colon, or taking a break like a comma. It's being cut off. And I'm cutting it off, right here and now.

This final last beating from John was enough to take me over the edge. I didn't want to experience it ever again.

I leaned over the short fence protecting people from the river.
It was only half my height. What is this going to do to protect anyone? I thought.
I looked down at the water, going almost as fast as my heart rate. I imagined my lifeless body floating down it, my heart stopping as soon as it hits the rocky bottom.

Wouldn't that be nice?

To feel nothing at all. Just the silence of death surrounding you.

It's all I wanted in this moment.

I pulled myself up onto the top of the small fence and sat there, continuing to watch the water and let my feet dangle. Splashes of cold water hit my feet, but I didn't even flinch. I only embraced it, lowering my body the slightest bit so that even more water splashed my feet and now my ankles.

There's no room for broken souls like you on this earth, I told myself aloud. Broken people don't fit into the puzzle called society.

Maybe in the end I was meant to feel this way, meant to be alone; meant to be driven to such an abrupt ending so soon.

"You want this." I spoke to myself again, this time soft and soaked with pain. "You don't want to spend the rest of your life wondering why you weren't good enough. You'd rather be dead."

And it was true, I would rather be dead. It wouldn't be a shock to anyone. Everyone already knows that I'm a mess, and no one would miss me. Maybe my body would just float off and never be found. I'm invisible anyways, no one will even notice I'm missing. The only people that are currently in my life are my mom and John. John will be busy hurting my mom and my mom will be busy defending herself. They don't have time for me, and that's just always how it has been. I'm already so emotionally unattached that I don't feel here. I feel somewhere else, somewhere where happiness comes naturally and broken hearts don't exist. I practically spent this year and the ones before that as a ghost, so why not actually spend the rest of my life as a real ghost.

Life was terrible while it lasted, and in the end all I learned was that people suck.
Wow, great job Melia.

I also learned that I'm a fabulous designer. I'm the designer of something magnificent;

my own catastrophe.

I reached into my bag that I threw on the ground carelessly moments ago, and pulled out my favourite pen. It had my mothers initials engraved into it, along with a heart.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I realized how much I will miss her.

Along with my pen I pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with my math notes on it and flipped it over to the blank side. I clicked the pen and began writing my last words. I addressed the note to 'anyone who cares', folded it neatly, and placed it onto the top of the fence. The police will find it later, I thought. That's if the wind doesn't find it first.

More tears fell as I whispered to no one in particular,

"I'm sorry. I tried so hard, I promise I did."

And then I let go.