Beaming for Judy✔️

When I wake up my head is pounding and I'm instantly reminded of the nineteen other bruises on my body. Yeah, I counted them. Some of the bruises were already healed but it seems these nineteen just don't want to. These bruises are a souvenir from my latest suicide attempt.

Three times I've attempted to take my life, three times I've miraculously escaped it. The previous two, no one suspected but I have a feeling my mother suspect this last one was no accident even though this is kinda the most convincing.

The first time, I 'fell' off the school roof. Slid off the walls, fell into some shrubs (it's not as comfy as you think) and somehow I managed to escape that one. The second time, I fell off a bridge and into a stream. It's easier to fall. One push is all you need, no chickening out after that. This time I've tried to make sure there was no way I'd escape, walked right into a six lane highway, got hit by a bus. Apparently neither heaven nor hell want me. . . even though I want out.

I never asked to be born.

After the accident, my sleepless nights became even more troublesome. I could always hear my mother's sobbing from the living room. She smiled to me in the morning and pretended she was alright. It hurts, a lot.

I'm not the kind of person that jumps right out of bed right after waking up and the injuries make it even worse. After about thirty minutes of staring at my ceiling I push myself out of bed. The wound on my hip has healed up well and it was much easier to walk now.

It's been one month and I could already get around by myself. Wasted most of my holiday being bedridden. I just wanted to end it all, I want peace and escape from the constant struggle and emptiness. I can't explain how I feel most of the time. It's not particularly sadness like most people think, it's more than that. It's tiredness, it's self hate, it's guilt, it's pain. It burns, it suffocates, it's. . . being at the very edge of the of your tolerance. Hurting so much you can't take it anymore and yet knowing there's nothing you can do about it. It's depressing.

I walk to my window and push the curtains aside and the first thing I see is that the girl next door, Judy, had pasted another large card to her windows which were directly opposite mine. She'd taken down the pink one that said 'get well soon' and in it's place was another, blue, that said 'I hope you're feeling better.'

Beside the new card were old ones that had gotten frayed over time with silly messages like; 'smile' 'love' 'it's a beautiful day, who knows what may happen' stupid things like that. No matter what side of the bed I woke up from the scene always ruined my mood.

I hate cutesy

I hate lovable

I hate fake

"Good morning mother." I greeted as I strolled into the kitchen and headed straight to the coffee maker. I didn't drink coffee for the adrenaline or whatever it is most people become addicted, I drank it because I liked the taste. Creamy and with lots of sugar.

"Good morning love." She greeted with a smile, it didn't mask the fear and something else in her eyes. Was it pain? Shame? Disappointment? Who knows, who cares. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not exactly," I murmured as I scooped spoonfuls of sugar into my cup of coffee. "I guess that makes two of us, huh?"

I glanced her way after saying that and immediately regretted it. Her face fell, poorly made mask and all. She looked helpless and I hated myself more for saying what I did. I wanted to apologise, really I did but it's kinda hard to do no matter how I pretend it isn't.

"Well," she started, forcing a smile on her face. There goes my chance to apologise, ah well. "How would you like to see Aunt Tess again."

My eyes widened at the mention of the name and a series of memories flash through my head in quick succession (how do brains do that so fast anyway?). It consisted mainly of a constantly sneering face and folded arms. That sneer was mostly directed at me.