the remedy for a broken heart (why am I so in love)

the deep end

I think about dying. Like, a lot.

When you're a kid, you don't think about death much, or at least I didn't. I didn't like thinking about it. It seemed like a notion that was just made up to scare kids into doing the right thing. You know, don't do drugs, stay in school, eat your vegetables, that sort of thing. Death seemed like a microchip that was planted into brains of children as soon as their temporal lobe had developed enough to store memories. It wasn't like it was a word I couldn't use; it was just one that was used in good light. Nowadays, all you hear are kids talking about how they're gonna kill themselves because nothing in their lives is going right, or because they failed a test, or because their friends are keeping them on the outside, or even something as simple as having to do something they really don't want to do. It's become a word that is used much too often and without much weight. I think social media is partially to blame, but I also don't know where to place the blame fully because I don't know when the movement started that saying you're going to kill yourself became the norm. I know I've said it before, but I've never meant it. 

Sometimes I say it, and then I stop and actually think about doing it. To really kill yourself, I mean, that's brutal. It's simply devastating that someone has been so wronged, or had so much of their life go wrong that they see no other alternative than death. It's scary that so many people have been subject to suicide because of what people don't think another second of. For example, insulting them, pitting them against others, and etc. 

I think about dying, and then I think about what my death would affect. My family. Dear God, my family would be the absolute worst thing. I just know my sister would be so angry with me for doing such a thing, but I know she'd be devastated. She wouldn't understand any of my reasoning, if I gave any. My mom would be lost. My mom wouldn't know what to do with herself. She'd go into some sort of stupor, not really believing that it had happened, but yet knowing that it did and there's absolutely nothing she can do about it. She's seen me hurting. She's seen me cry, seen me heartbroken, seen me struggle with who I am and who I want to become and I know how much it bothers her that she can't do a damn thing to help simply because it's things I have to conquer on my own. My mom can't mend my broken heart. She can't help me figure out myself. She can't help me with things that I have to finish myself. My dad and other sister would be sad. I'm not sure how they'd react, but I know they wouldn't believe it. I'm such a happy kid, you know? I've never had much problems. I've always been me, I'm not sure how else to describe it. I've always been the kid that loves playing Clue so much that she plays by herself, that plays video games and is better at Fortnite than a lot of the guys she knows, and that loves music more than she loves herself. I don't think anyone would understand why I'd do such a thing. I don't think I'd fully understand it either, to be honest. I think it would just swallow me and I'd just have to convince myself that it's the only way to be done with all of it: the pain, the heartbreak, just life itself. 

I think about my friends. They'd be shocked, never actually thinking my words held much weight when I said it. "But she was on antidepressants!" they'd argue, not having any fucking clue that those don't make things automatically better. They don't instantly heal all wounds, heal my hurting heart, heal any pain whatsoever. They'd cry and be shocked, missing the constantly joking friend that always roasted anyone without hesitation. They'd miss the sad music I'd play without fail. They'd miss me, but they'd get over it eventually. Just like all things, apparently. Time heals all wounds.

I guess I'm just saying that dying terrifies me. It truly makes my throat dry and makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up because I cannot imagine what comes after death. It terrifies me, but if it's the only way to end the pain, is it the last solution I have? I'm not too sure, and I'm not too sure I'll ever find out.