Dear World, this is the story of how everything started and ended. This is the story of how I tried to live but, failed. This is the short version of the story that narrates my suicide. I waited eight days before I did it. There are eight reasons wh...
Today, I've decided that I am going to end my life seven days from now. It seems appropriate to me considering that there are eight reasons why I am about to end my breathing. Each day, I am going to explain the reason before I tell you what it is. I want you (whomever you may be) to figure out why. Sometimes the answer will be obvious, other times, you may not even notice when I mention the reason. Before you ask, the reasons have no specific order. There's no need for them to be in order if everything on the list contributed to my death.
Anyway, today is a Saturday. I hate Saturdays; they are filled with anxiety, depression, and nothing. When I'm in school, I don't think about this reason. I don't think about it because HE isn't there (well, HE isn't there when I go home. HE left my mother when I was ten). HE can't hurt me like HE did when I was little but, HE manages to find a way to disrupt my life without being physically present.
HE was a rolling stone, marrying women, having a child, then leaving once HE got what HE wanted. HE already had a child when HE married my mother. Just like his previous wife, my mother fell for his misleading charms.
Both He and my mother were plant workers. HE worked the night shift while my mother worked during the day. I don't remember much, probably because of how hard I tried to pretend that it never happened, causing my brain to believe that nothing happened. But, no matter how hard I tried, I still remember the bad things.
Before they divorced, HE used to go to this gun range near our house. HE would leave me in the car, sometimes without AC in the sweltering heat, and sometimes in the freezing cold with no heat. HE would make me stay in the car for hours; that wasn't what bothered me. I was bothered by hearing gunshots so close to the car that tears would swell into my eyes, making me feel as though a bullet would find its way into my body at any moment. I was bothered by hearing men laugh as they listed profanities. It got to the point where I had to crawl onto the floor, crying for myself. Mostly, I was bothered by the fact that I was only eight years old.
After this, things only got worse. I remember HE used to hit me for the smallest things. I remember one time when I spilled red kool-aid onto the white carpet. I sat there, tears retreating from my eyes, trying to clean up the mess I made, then HE walks in. It was like, it was like, I don't even know how to put it into words. I couldn't even breathe. Just as HE walked toward me, my mother walks in and tells him to leave me alone, that it was only an accident. I remember the breath of relief, the feeling of guilt I had for putting my mother in that situation. Again, I was only eight years old.
When I was nine years old, I made it clear to him that I would no longer stand for the abuse of my mother and I. This was the first time I had ever seen him put his hands on my mother; I knew this wasn't the first time. If I close my eyes, I can still hear my the way she screamed out my name. I ran into their room and saw something that would scar me for the rest of my life. There HE was, his hands wound around my mother's neck, the spit collecting around her mouth. I didn't hesitate as I lunged onto his back, wrapping my hands around his neck, trying to choke him as hard as humanly possible. I didn't kill him; I regret the decision that I made when I sparred his life.
I would say that everything the nine-year-old version of myself endured was the beginning of everything. He ruined everything that I wanted to stand for. I remember when I wanted to become a black belt in TAE-KWON-DO. It was my first competition, the competition where I was hoping to be promoted to a yellow belt (HE was nowhere to be seen).
Long story short, I did horrible. I ran to the bathroom, crying, looking myself in the eye as I stared at my reflection from the mirror. One of my front teeth was hanging on by a thread. I yanked the tooth out of its place, allowing the physical pain to take me away from the mental pain. HE told me that I could never be a black belt and my performance in the competition proved his point. So, I stopped going to the dojo.
Fast forward two years, I am eleven years old with a passion for track. I had a natural talent for track; I was one of the fastest girls on the team.
My mother came to each and every one of my track meets, bringing along my stepfather (I'll be referring to him as my papi). She would always bring Gatorade for the whole team. She supported me when HE didn't.
I had invited him to come to one of my track meets, the last one. It lasted for about four hours and I was elated that HE came. HE was supposed to take me with him when it was over but, he left. HE said that HE didn't have the time to sit around and wait for me, that he had things that held more importance than me and my foolish infatuation with track. HE left me stranded, leaving my mother to be the person to pick up the broken pieces of my heart. She tried her best to lift my spirits. She took me to a bakery where she gave me the opportunity to drown my sorrows in cheesecake. But, I was depressed. I was hurting and I didn't know how to cope. I quit track.
The next year, HE ruined my birthday. The court system ordered us to go to a therapy appointment. I was forced to sit next to him and pretend that things were okay while the therapist sat there, judging us. But, she didn't know everything that happened between the two of us. She didn't know about the times that I went to school hungry because HE forgot to feed me. She didn't know that I meant nothing to him.
I let the anger get the best of me as I began to yell. I just wanted to let go of all the secrets HE made me keep. There was this time when I was in the fourth grade and HE forgot to pick me up from the bus stop. Do you want to know the reason why HE forgot to pick me up? HE was playing Madden on his XBOX 360. Anyway, I walked home, watching as this man was staring at me. It felt like he was following me so, I ran to the safety of my friend's house.
My friend's mother called him to come to pick me up. HE begged her not to tell my mother, HE begged me not to tell my mother. The ironic thing is that I tried not to tell her. When she came home from work that night, I couldn't look into her eyes. Every time I looked at her, I felt like she knew all about the incident. It felt like she could look into my soul and know my secrets. Eventually, I told her the truth. Three years later.
HE messed up my mind. HE destroyed my future, slowly yet surely. HE did things to me, things that make me broken, things that keep me up at night, silently wishing that I could end it all. Maybe, that's why he left without a word. HE realized that HE broke me so much that there was nothing left to break. I hope he reads this and sees that HE is the first reason.
HE is my biological father.
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