You're Not Enough

Chapter 2

The ride home is long. We've been driving for almost two hours, and we still have about an hour left. The view is starting to look familiar. We are just outside of town.

"Here, sweetie." My mother turns around and hands me a rubber band.

I look at her, confused. "To tie your hair up."

"Melissa." I hear my father say.

"What? She asks my father, clearly not seeing the problem. Jayda, don't take it the wrong way. I love your long curls, but it just looks a little messy."

"It's fine." I take the rubber band from her hand and pull my thick curly hair into a ponytail.

"Great. She smiles at me. Now, tomorrow I thought we could go shopping. I know it's last minute, but you do start school on Monday, and I wanted to wait for you to get home so we can go back to school shopping together. How does this sound?"

Pretend like things are normal. Make them think that everything is fine. "That's fine," I say, faking my best smile.

"Of course, the stores close early on Sundays, so we will leave a little early."

I nod my head, and she turns back around. "Dad, can you turn some music on?" I ask him.

"Sure." He replies; I see him smiling in the mirror. This time it isn't fake; it's real; I'll miss that smile.

I lay my head back and listen to the music that plays; it's ironic how the first song that comes on is 1800 by logic. Part of me thinks this was planned somehow; my dad got them to play this song at this time; Its crazy, I know, but I wouldn't put it past him.

...

When I wake up, we are pulling into our driveway. My house looks bigger than usual. My dad grabs my bags out of the trunk, and I hop out of the car and follow my mother to the front door. She unlocks, and we go in.

It looks the same on the inside—our massive kitchen with an island in the middle. The living room is still the size of a ballroom. I look around the house as if this is my first time here.

My dad walks through the door, breaking me away from my memories of the last time I was in here. "Ok, I'll be back; Im going to go pick up the pizza."

"Hurry back." My mom says. She and I walk over to the door just as my dad walks out. I grab one of my suitcases and head upstairs.

I'm in front of my door, but I can't bring myself to open it. My hand is just resting on the silver doorknob.

"Jayda, are you ok?" My mom startles me.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." I open the door and enter.

It looks the same also. Everything is exactly how I left it. I leave my suitcase by the bed and walk over to my bathroom door. My eyes immediately look down at the floor. The last time I was here, I was on that floor, bleeding out, blood everywhere; in just a few seconds, the floor went from white to red.

I close my eyes and think back to my father, bursting through the bathroom door with my distraught mother behind him. I remember how they paused at the door, not for long, just a second, one of the longest seconds in my life. My mother stood at the door, sobbing while my father rushed to my side.

When I open my eyes, they go to the lock on my bathroom door; well, the lock that is supposed to be there it's gone now. No shocker there; I remember Mr. Dale telling me that my parents were making 'significant changes' to the house. I walk out of the bathroom and look at the doorknob on my room door. It also has no lock.

I walk over to my bed and sit on it. I never thought I would be back here.

When I was being rushed to the hospital, I could barely keep my eyes open. I was so weak I thought that was it for me. I had cut so deep I severed the veins and some arteries in my wrist. Even though my vision was blurry, I heard my father tell them to do whatever it took to keep me alive.

At that moment, I hated my father. I hated him because he wanted me to live.

I know it's crazy. Why wouldn't a parent want to do whatever they possibly can to keep their child alive?

He thought he was saving me, but he wasn't. Him keeping me alive didnt save me. It just killed me even more.

I wanted to die; I was supposed to die, right there on that gurney. But I didn't. I thought I did, that was until I found myself waking up with stitches in my wrist. I must've passed out right before they prepared me for surgery. When I had woken up, I had these large stitches on my wrist. The stitches are gone now, but the scars are still there.

I look down at my arms, pulling my long-sleeved black shirt up; the two slits where the stitches were are the ones you can see really god, that was the deepest I ever cut, so of course, those would be more visible, I have the little ones that go up my arm, but they're not as visible as the other ones.

I rub over the little one. I think back to the relief I felt while slicing my arm. I love how one cut made everything go away. I was obsessed with the thought that if I cut an inch deeper, I could be gone. I wouldn't have to wake up anymore. I could just sleep for the rest of my life.

No pain, no agony, no nothing.

"Jayda." My mom enters the room. I quickly pull my sleeves down, and I look up at her. "I just wanted to say that your father and I are so happy that your home. We missed you very much," she says. "Your father and I haven't slept a day since we dropped you off at that facility."

"Why? I ask. I know the answer, but I want to hear her say it. She hesitates before responding.

"We always expected to get a call telling us that our daughter was gone." She lets out a hushed sob. She quickly covers her mouth, but I hear it.

I want to cry. I do. But I cant. Its hard for me to feel something, anything. If I were dead, they wouldn't have to go through this. They wouldn't have to look at their daughter and see a disappointment or feel like they failed.

"I'm sorry, mom." It's the truth. I'm sorry that I have put her through this. I'm sorry, I am not a normal teenager. Well, truthfully, normal teenagers have suicidal thoughts, and they have depression.

Some act on it, some dont. Some fight, some dont. So I guess Im sorry because Im not fighting. I'm sorry that I'm not strong.

She embraces me in a hug. The front door alarm goes off, and she lets me go. "Your father's back. Wash your hands before you come downstairs." she wipes her tears then exits the room.

I rub my temples. Out of nowhere, I just got a headache. I would really just like to go to sleep. I'm not even hungry. But I'll give them this. Who knows? This could be our last meal together.