The Cult of Wishful Thinking

"More fuck yeah, less fuck that"

-Anonymous

Never would have I imagined I would find myself here. Never would have I seen myself so gone, so pale, so empty. Eyes sunken back, you would have thought bugs would crawl out of the empty hollows. The dark circles under my eyes were craters as deep as the moon. My eyes themselves were heavy and tired, but I'm still breathing I guess.

The week had been heavy on all of us, all of us meaning my mom, my little brother and myself. The car had been wrecked. The house, we've been evicted. Mom must've used rent money for whatever her fix was this week. But I'm never really here anyway, I can't stand to be around her. But my little brother is, and that's what pisses me off the most. He doesn't deserve the mess my mother has made with her life and mine. He doesn't deserve the pain of just realizing you have to wake up, that you have to live. He doesn't deserve hunger or thirst. Only happiness. The worst part of all of this, this is what my father said when he left my mom. That I didn't deserve this. That nobody deserves this. She can't keep herself upright, half the time literally. She causes a storm that has no eye, no safe place to be. And then she sucks anyone within her reach into it, just so she has someone to blame or someone to rely on when things start to go south for her. And just so convenient for her, my innocent three year old brother is right in her path,

I can't stand to watch his small spirit wither away just as mine did. I can't take him with me either, though I wish I could. But all the while she is screaming at her phone, telling her friend was "bullshit" her irresponsibility is, I take the time to say my final farewell to my little brother. I kneel down in front of the small, pale boy. His blue eyes dart around my face, his brow furrowed and his ears covered to block out all the words she spits.

"Hey buddy", I smiled. He uncovered his ears and smiled back. He glanced down at his feet and I grabbed his small hands, kissing them gently. He scooted off of the single nicotine-stained seat and hugged me. I knew I was his only relief in this world, and soon I wouldn't be in his world anymore. His dark hair was matted in the back, from days of our mother's neglect. I tried combing it through with my fingers, but it just seemed to hurt him more than helping him. I cringed, knowing this is what his future looked like.

"I've got to go now, buddy", I said, my nose turning pink and my eyes getting misty. His eyes met mine, confused as ever and I knew right then I couldn't forgive myself for what I was about to do. I rubbed his head, kissing the top of it, then pulling him as close to me as I could.

"But Leslie", his little voice wavered in the air, "Where are you going?". I breathed out heavy, looking down the back of his neck.

"I don't know yet", I replied as honestly as I could. "But, you'll be good for me, yeah? And you'll stay safe for me?", he nodded and squeezed me back with all of the might he could muster up.

"I love you. So, so much". I whispered it, though it seemed so loud. Cigarette smoke wafted our way, and I could feel the tears that pricked my eyes begin to slide out. His little voice was muffled by my chest where he buried his face, but I know what he said.

"I love you, too". My heart broke even more when he said it. We let go and as I began to stand up, I said silently,

"Goodbye, Jimmy".

The burn in my throat was greater than any cut or tear could ever make. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want him to know. I didn't want him to remember but it's probably too late anyway. Besides, my mother will blame me for it anyway, reminding him every day about what his horrible older sister did to her. To him. How I ruined their lives. I went into my room to grab the bags I had "packed", ready to leave. Rather than walking out of the door, I shut it behind me and locked it. I opened the closet door that revealed the emptiness of the house. A single duffle bag was sitting at the bottom, waiting for nothing, almost like it knew there really was nothing to wait for anymore. I opened it, pulling out a rope designed specifically for my departure.

I paced my room for what felt like hours, but was only minutes. The time felt as if it was going slower than ever, a minute wasn't 60 seconds it was 60 days. My forehead was damp and the rope still limp in my hands. I tried so hard to come to terms with myself, to forgive myself for leaving him in such an ungodly place. But no matter how long I tried, how long I could have tried, it wouldn't have worked. On the edge of my bed, I listened to the clock tick, counting down in my head from 5 when I would take the final step of my life.

5...4...3...2...1...

Again.

5...4...3...2...1...

The air left my lungs. The light left my eyes. And the life left my soul.

May 9th, 1995, Local Girl Leslie Norris Passes Away from Suicide