d e r e k
Since the workers have classified the morning I had as 'traumatic' and 'a possible step back', they released me from all activities for the day and for Monday, as well as gifted me with an extra therapeutic session.
Danny had tried to stay with me as long as he could before he was too hungry and couldn't stand the idea of skipping dinner. He offered to bring me- almost opted to dragging me, actually- but I had insisted I wasn't hungry.
I was just tired. Still am.
I've been laying in bed for a good two hours now. Danny's come and gone, his hunger and boredom taking over. Sam has also been coming in, and although she can't offer any words of comfort, her warm hugs sure do help to an extent.
Right now, I'm alone. My head is buried in my pillow as I mope under the thick blankets. The sheets smell like medicine, shampoo and sweat, which isn't a good combination. I vaguely remember how my pillow at home smelled like- lilac laundry detergent. I shift a little in the position I'm lying in as I think about home. It's only been three days since I've signed into the clinic, but it feels like so much longer.
For the most part, all my life has been pretty bland. I've gone to school, came home, done homework, and slept. There were rarely days when I went out with friends, and if I did, it was almost always Zack, who was too good to break the rules. I'm not used to eventful and exciting days, which as to be a reasonable explanations as to why the past few days have exhausted me so much. As far as I know, this much happening in so little time shouldn't be possible.
That's always been a problem, though. When I used to go to school, especially after breaks or summer, and hear those amazing, spectacular and rebellious stories, it'd make me feel ordinary. I'd have my classmates telling me to live life while I can, and my teachers saying to prepare for the future. It's confused me, and has always been a big reason I feel lost. I'm not sure in what direction I'm heading in life, but at the same time, I'm not living my present to its fullest.
I turn over, shifting uncomfortably. If I'm not living my life to the fullest, am I wasting my life? Am I just a waste of life? Leftover, useless organs beating to a hollow, lost drum? What use am I then, if I'm nothing more than a beat? People who deserve to live, who actually have something to offer, have a rhythm, a skip in their hearts.
People like Jake, Zack, Danny, and Sam.
They have smiles that can make other people smile. They have laughs that lighten people's days. They're worth more and bring more good to the world. They don't drag the world down with their misery or their temper tantrums because they can't handle the concept of a suicide. I sink further into the covers. All I'm doing is bringing more pain and grief to the world; what kind of person does that?
Obviously not a human that's worth something to the world. Humanity is supposed to be united, knowledgeable and extraordinary, but I have nothing to offer for that. I can't help anyone or anything; in the end, I'm just a waste of oxygen. A failed contraption, sent out into this world just so I can stumble and fall in the maze I'll never escape, taunted by the beat that will never be a memorable rhythm.
I think back to what I had told my mother about how I feel like I'm humming my way through life because I can't nail the lyrics. Now I understand that I was never meant to nail the lyrics, and I knew that from the start. I was never actually meant for greatness.
Maybe it'd be better if my beats just stopped.
It's the first time since the whole drowning incident that I've actually contemplated suicide. Even though I had talked about it in therapy, they were just empty threats. Now, however, I know that this is what I've wanted all along. Maybe the drowning thing hadn't been by impulse; I've always known that I wasn't actually meant to be here. I'm made up of repetitive, bland beats.
