You're Not Enough

Chapters 31

It's nice to walk alone sometimes; walking helps me think, it even relaxes my mind for a little bit. When I'm walking, I like pretending that I don't have a destination and that I'm just walking until I reach the end.

The end of what?

I don't know,  just the end of everything, just until everything stops.

It's getting so hard to pretend like everything's okay when it's not. I can't help but picture the smile my mother had on her face when she said I had friends. She was happy, and she honestly feels like I'm doing better.

I'm happy that I'm making them happy.

The more progress I make, the closer their relationship will become. Just today, their cheekbones were high in the air as they smiled, seeing my 'friends'. My father's strong arms wrapped around my mother's curvy waist. I saw the look they both had in their eyes. Towards me, they looked pleased. Towards each other, they looked...hopeful.

Even though they seem to be at a good place now, they're not where I need them to be yet. I need to be fully convinced that they can survive without me before I go.

If I kill myself now, I know their marriage will be destroyed; they won't make it. They will blame each other for my death, pinning it on one another. They will separate and never want to see each other again because now they hate each other, thinking that one of them played a role in my demise.

Part of the grieving process is anger; there are three stages.

First, they will be angry at themselves; they will ask themselves what they could have done to save me. They will think I killed myself because of something that they did.

Second, their anger will move towards the child. They will ask themselves, why didn't I just come to them? Why didn't I explain to them how I felt? Why did I take my life when in their eyes, my life was good? They won't be able to understand why I did what I did. And that's okay.

Finally, there's the third stage, they will eventually feel bad for being angry at me, and then they will turn their anger towards one another. They'll blame each other for their mistakes; they will fuss and yell about how the other could have done something differently.

When you're in pain, it is easy to blame the person closest to you, and if this... no, when this happens, my parents will separate, which will lead to a divorce, and then they'll never speak again. I can't have that.

I know I will always be a part of them; they will remember me, always—there nothing I could do about that. If I could, I would wipe myself from their minds and hearts. But I can't. I know that.

The first couple of months without me will be hard for them. Everything will remind them of me; they will need to lean on each other for support —to get through this, to get past my death. Knowing my parents, they will probably even go to counseling for support. I don't care what they have to do, as long as they are doing it together.

I don't want them to be at a standstill in life. I hope...I need them to continue on their journey without me.

The sound of a car door startles me, and another car slams on the breaks right in front of me. My chest moves up and down as I try to catch my breath. I walked out into the street at a red light. The driver looks at me, also startled; I move backward back on the sidewalk. The car continues down the street.

"Jayda." A familiar voice yells it's Ryder. He's walking across the street towards me, with rage cleary on his face,

My face feels cold; I reach my hand up to touch my brown face; it's wet. Was I crying?