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...
Isn't it weird that I wasn't afraid? I thought that I would be scared of the unknown, I thought that my brain would cause me to forget about my plans. I thought that I would wake up and everything would be different. But, that isn't how it was. I woke up, knowing that in a couple of minutes I would kill myself, I would commit the ultimate sin. I smile, I smiled because there was no point in crying any more tears, I smiled because I was tired of not being able to.
I thought about leaving a personal note for my mother but, I decided against it. I'm already leaving this journal as evidence for the cruelty of humanity, in hope that my mother will know that she wasn't the reason. I'm leaving this because I want him to read it, I want him to know that I remember everything (even if I remain silent), I want him to know what he did to me. He was the first reason, he was the two steps I took towards the edge of the cliff.
I want them to know that their rumors were the second. My peers know who they are; they are life-sucking, they are ruthless, they are pure evil reincarnated. I know that this isn't the first time that people like me have taken their life on account of people like my classmates; I know that this won't be the last. There will always be someone that doesn't care about how their words impact another person. Almost all of my peers are sadistic but, most of them don't voice how they feel. Not because it is the humane way of living not is it because they care. It is because they can't cope with the guilt they may feel when someone ends their life. I wanted (I hoped) that my peers would get better, that they would overcome this addiction to ruining people's lives. They didn't. They never will.
I want to know that emotions kill, that they make you see the world in a way that you have never thought of. Those emotions struck me then left. I couldn't feel the things that other people could. My empathy towards sadness is non-existent. It was like the part of my brain that was responsible for those emotions was shut down, permanently. I couldn't take feeling nothing for the rest of my miserable life. I had already done it for too long.
Life was throwing me against the wall, it had me by the neck. I would wake up with the intention of having a good day but, that intention could be crushed within seconds when I realized whom I was and whom I wanted to be. I could never win this uphill battle called life and no one could change my mind otherwise.
There were sometimes when I somethings but, those times were filled with anguish and guilt. Anguish because that was a way to escape reality, it was a physical thirst that could not be quenched, it was something that I could rely on. I felt guilty because of the way I ended my grandmother's life, I killed the only person whom understood the loneliness, the nothing that I felt. She deserved to live her life just like I deserved to rot in a grave. I was the reason that causes grief and strife. I should've told my mother about the medicine, I should've helped her figure out how to buy the medicine on her own.
It was her fault that I am about to die in a few seconds. She smiled, laughed, and ignored the way he ran his hands all over my body. She turned a blind eye towards the way he touched my butt whenever I was walking by him. She laughed while I cried, not understanding why this was happening to me, why did God allow this to happen to me? (But, I could never bring myself to bring malice towards God. He was my everything, he was the reason why I managed to live this long. I wish that he could hold me, physically.)
Finally, I was a steady reminder that my life was a mistake. Society made it clear to me that my size was wrong, that being chubby was a sin (although, I could've sworn that women were never meant to be skinny.) Society showed me that I was bland, that I wasn't the person that I needed to be. Society appeared to me that the world would never get better. Everywhere I looked, it seemed that something bad was always happening. Thousands of children are starving and being taken away from their parents, the threat of nuclear war looms in the air, and the world is divided because of our differences.
Here I am, laying on my bed, staring up at my bedroom's ceiling, razor in my hand, hair pulled into a sloppy bun, my body clad in my favorite light blue ripped jeans and my velvet halter top, forearms exposed that show my cuts from yesterday, glasses laying three inches away from the left of my body, the silver ring that my papi gave me still on my right hand, my mother has been calling me for the past three minutes. She sounds distressed, upset, confused, unaware.
I took a deep breath, the fullness of my actions was starting to bear down on my shoulders. I was about to end my life by cutting my veins, allowing the blood to stain my blankets. I was about to end my breathing, I was about to cease my five senses. For once, I was afraid. How would God feel once I did this? Would God forgive me?
Before I could further try to convince myself not to end my life, I bought the razor against the vein that extends from the crease of my elbow to the tip of my wrist. I mumbled a soft "sorry" before I pulled the metal down my arm, the blood flooding out of me, my body shaking hard. I repeated the process, both arms lying limp by my sides.
"I'm sorry," I said, death clear in my room. "I couldn't live like this anymore. I couldn't wake up every morning, staring at this disgusting girl that sat in my bed. I couldn't pretend that I wasn't already dead," I said the apology, feeling the guilt if my actions.
"Laiyla Cosette Rouvlein. What are you doing? I've been calling you for the past five minutes. Get in here," my mother said, frustration clear in her voice. I could hear her walk to my door, jiggle the doorknob, and growl in the cute way that I will miss.
"Laiyla, open this door," she says, banging on the door. "Is this is some sick game, you're grounded for a month."
I think she knew exactly what had happened, she just didn't want to admit that I would do it.
"I love you."
This is the final reason. Nothing.
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Hai, this is the end of my story. I just want to thank everyone. This chapter was hard for me to write considering the fact that I am kinda religious and it was hard because I could feel the weight of the main character's suicide on my shoulders. I hope that you have learned something from my book.
