-My death-
December 23rd 1995. That's the first time I remember dad abusing Mum. Me being only 13 at the time, I watched Dad force mum to the ground. He was yelling and screaming, mum couldn't do much anymore that's why dad was so annoyed. Mum had been diagnosed with cancer when I was only 10 years old, she lasted longer than the doctors said she would have. Dad walked from the room mumbling, I remember running as fast as I could to help mum back up on her sofa chair, still in total denial that my father had done that. I couldn't help but to cry myself to sleep. That night was when I first started cutting, scratching and burning myself.
The Christmas that fell two days later December 25th 1995 was the worst Christmas I remember. That day was mum's last day. At Christmas dinner we sat down and started eating. Mum started choking, turning blue and losing all colour. I cried. Not because of what happened, but because dad sat there and laughed. How could he just sit there, and have the decency to laugh, at his own wife.
Trying to remember the next three years was hard. I couldn't think about anything except the constant cutting, scratching and burning of myself. The next part of my depressive life was 3 years later the day before my birthday, 28th September. Dad walked into our house with a tall, petite, blonde woman. He yelled out to me winging that I was like my mother, arrogant and a pain. Remembering the feeling as my stomach dropped, the feeling that took over my body. One second cold, one second hot and the next light headed. He was replacing the only woman I ever had in my life, how could he. The feeling I felt was indescribable. The only thing I remember thinking about was running into my room, sitting in that corner, the one feeling like a real home and crying.
On 29th December, my birthday dinner, Dad was making an attempt to be nice. The moment I was told that woman was there the world turned black. The words still play over in my mind. Dad's once nice voice, telling the party people to be quiet he wanted to talk. I thought he was going to be nice and to actually apologise and to actually say happy birthday. That day was the first day I was wrong, beyond fixing. At my 16th birthday dinner, he asked for that woman's hand in marriage. My emotions where like jumping castles for those five seconds, I was happy for dad, angry for him replacing my mother and most of all my depression voice stepped in. The same thing the voice always told me to do. Run. But that night, my birthday, was the first time I followed what it said. Grabbing money from dad's wallet and grabbing my phone, this was the first time I felt great about myself in years.
The only happy place I remembered feeling in the last three years was Mums grave. Even though she had died three years ago, I still felt wanted at her grave. I was completely positive that my father wouldn't have thought about mum's grave. I ran there. Faster and faster. I knew I was getting closer. I could feel the sudden warmth my heart finally felt once again, the feeling of love. I sat beside her gravestone. The only person that ever visited mums grave was me.
I was woken by a sudden stiffness. Flashing lights and torch beams. Remembering back then still scares me, the feeling I felt when I was nearly discovered. The frozen feeling my lips felt as I kissed mum's gravestone goodbye for the last time. I got up and ran.
Finally stumbling past the basketball stadium, past the highway and straight into the horrible area's of town. I finally stopped running. Seeing the town drug seller, the voice came back. Buy them; it will get rid of your sadness, your emotion and most of all your pain. Second time in my life I obeyed that voice. I knew if I ignored it, I would regret it.
I bought 30 grams of some drug, he wasn't specific on the name, but it didn't matter that voice was happy. After I bought that bag of random drugs, that stupid voice came back, go to McDonalds and buy a drink, Hook up with someone, the plans nearly over, you just need alcohol. That stupid voice annoyed me my whole life, but got stronger as my depression grew.
I was convinced. My life would be prefect if I followed that amazing voice. I never wanted anything more in life, nothing. Just for my life to end. Remembering back then made me smile. Because that thought, the thought of my life ending brought a smile to my face. I finally found a way out of my life. But thinking was hard when all you ever did was think and result to hurting yourself when you felt wrong.
Public toilet's, were amazing. The way I used all those drugs to myself, it felt great, except that stupid rabbit that kept appearing after I had the smallest portion. That rabbit kept popping out of random places and mimicking me, that cheeky grin, those spotted ears, the pink bunny and the carrot shaped tail. If only I could have captured that stupid thing. I would have become a millionaire never having to see anyone I never wanted to. Chasing that rabbit, I ran and ran for what seemed like hours, which turned out to be a few minutes.
But that rabbit was friends with my voice. The stupid rabbit wanted the same as my depressive voice. Me dead, out of misery. I stopped chasing that stupid rabbit, and walked the opposite direction, not sure where I was, nor where I was heading. But continuing my walk away from that rabbit, I heard massive roars. Turning around the small rabbit turned into a massive dinosaur.
That voice didn't want to settle for second best. He wanted me dead. I wouldn't give in to the satisfaction. I grabbed the pocket knife that never leaves my body and started constantly stabbing my body, arms, leg and stomach. Still running from that dinosaur and that depression voice, feeling my blood run down my arms down my stomach and down my legs. With every step a patch of blood draining out of me leaving a red puddle on the dark concrete.
My heart was thumping. Slowly running out of energy. That stupid dinosaur and that gloomy depression voice forcing me onto the bridge. I was crammed up against the barricade. Remembering the feeling when I looked down at the puddle of blood growing in size.
I stopped. My life would never get any better, being a 16 year old teenage girl diagnosed with depression, having scars all over my body, unable to wear shorts or singlets, never being able to go to any beach. I couldn't live anymore. I was just that girl that nobody cared about unless they wanted something. I was that girl that sat in her bedroom for hours cutting and burning myself just to tell if I was alive, that girl had given up. That was the end. I finally gave up.
I climbed the wall stood on top and jumped. I jumped to my death of the bridge. The second I hit that water, I was dead. Depression kills.
