Behind Closed Doors *Narry*

The Suicide Note

You know that feeling in your chest? It's heavy and hallow, and hard and rough against your heart? It pierces you like no tomorrow and drags you down to the deepest crevices of your being and holds you tight. Tight enough to turn your face pink and leave tear tracks on your face. It's an aching anticipation of something. The sadness. It's a reminder. And it's a dreadful feeling. And when you feel it you can't push it away. It's inevitable.

I have that now. It's physically painful but it's way worse on the inside where my heart feels like tearing through the flesh and burying itself fifty feet bellow the surface of the earth. It'd hurt less that way. But you know that's sort of impossible and I sort of don't have the guts to carve it out of my chest myself. But who would?

It's times like these that I wish I was old enough to grab a pair of shoes, and a thin coat and run away. Run into the night, arms flailing. I would pretend I was flying, or falling and my heart would beat fast and hard against my ribs and I would smile. I'd smile this big, giant smile and I'd be happy. I'd pump my legs faster and faster and not pay attention to my surroundings because, who cares? I'd pretend I was the only one in the world and I was conquering all. And I'd be happy. Maybe not for long, but for a percentage of a second. And it'd be worth it. It's times like these I wish I had someone calling my cellphone telling me they're outside,waiting at two something in the freaking morning. Without warning me of the adventure ahead of us! We'd sail into the night in an old run down car, my body hanging out the window and my hair whirling around my face in an ungrateful but appreciated fashion. I'd be content with doing anything as long as it's spontaneous and exciting! I'd imagine doing these things and then I'd remember, who'd do them with me?

The feeling in my chest? The aching one? Well it turned to loneliness after that. I just reminded myself that no one actually wants me, ya know? Like I know no one really likes me. It's kind of obvious. They crack crude comments about my incapability to help them or be there for them. They make me, indirectly, feel unwanted. And I mean, it's sort of my fault for being this damn messed up and confusing and temperamental. I bring this upon myself and I don't even know how I got into this. I'm a manipulative cunt and it's irreversible. There's really no going back.

I really, truly hate this. The late hour dawning the feeling of sickly sweet sorrow. Trying desperately to imagine a nonexistent person hugging me and whispering sweet nothings into my ear as a cry till my hearts content. Instead though, reality had me just cry into the confines of my pillow still stained with tears from the previous nights sob fest.

It's an endless kind of sadness. It drives home, deep in the pits of your soul with a clawed, dry hand and squirms around until it grasps every single insecurity you have and uses it to the best of its ability. It takes you down from the inside out. It whispers sweetly in your ear how ugly and fat and unwanted and conceited you are. It chants FAT FAT FAT and UGLY UGLY UGLY over and over until you have to tear at your skin to just make it stop! But it doesn't. How could it? It feeds off the insanity you create. It enlarges as you slowly, but surely give up and let it consume you for yet another night.

My favourite part though is after you're done sobbing to the point where you're hiccuping and gasping for air and you just sit there. Hands in lap and eyes unblinking. Your mind so lost in the thoughts that you can't even see the cup two feet in front of your face. Even after you've suffered enough you still ear the chants, and whispers and shouts of disapproval and it's louder now. But you've given up. And I mean who wouldn't have?

Sleep doesn't envelope you for another hour or two and they're the longest hours you've ever had to stand.

It's become sort of like a cycle nowadays. Wake up with tear sticky cheeks and rubber eyes, laugh thoroughly throughout the day, cry myself into an oblivion at night, and repeat. I don't know exactly what it is but around others the smiles kind of like an instinct it pierces through the rough surfaces of chipped goods and shards of glass and protects my inner most vulnerable self. It's sort of pathetic.