Some are lucky when they die.
Some get to move on and go into the afterlife, they leave everything within their life behind, no more pain and misery, no more anything, just a mere memory of who they once were.
I’m not so lucky.
After my death, I didn’t go anywhere. I stayed behind to watch my family grieve, watching as they asked why I was gone, why my death was so abrupt and unexpected.
I had to watch my loving father find my body and scream in anguish when he saw the blood everywhere, soaking into my clothes and the carpet all around me, the deep cuts that spanned the length of my forearms. He had cradled my lifeless body against his chest as he wailed and begged for me to come back to him.
Late in the night, I had committed suicide. The pain had become too much for me to handle so I had grabbed the sharpest knife I could find and slit my arm open along the main arteries in my forearms.
I had lain there; watching as precious lifeblood had run freely, escaping the veins I had so sorely abused with a razor.
I had died of blood loss within minutes and finally, as I had thought, I was free.
But this wasn’t the peace I thought I would have when I died. The torment had only continued on from there when I had to watch the ones I loved stumble around grieving whilst planning my funeral.
My mother, bless her soul, wanted a perfect funeral, the perfect coffin, the perfect burial site and funeral service. She put my best dress on me and even did my hair all pretty; she wanted everything to be perfect for me because I know she loved me.
The hardest part of all was the day of my funeral.
Not many people showed up, I didn’t mind that at all, I knew I wasn’t the most popular person around but what hurt the most was watching them stand there in front of a crowd of ten people or so and say how special their daughter was. How loving and gentle, smart, kind and funny I was. They cried their way through a speech about me when I was a child right through to the day I died.
“My beautiful girl is finally at peace, after years of torment and constant bullying my baby girl is free.” My father had wept.
I had to admit that the service was beautiful; the coffin was pearl white with gold trimming and silk cushioning on the inside, the place where my mother had picked for me to be buried was breath taking, the site was on a large hill that looked out over the city and a beautiful park, at night time the lights from the city sparkled merrily.
Death comes in all shapes and forms.
Disease, murder, a freak accident and in my case, suicide.
I flirted with death, I tempted death in ways no sane man would ever dare to do. But one day, I got tired of playing the game, tired of being in constant pain and always hovering on the brink of madness. There was nothing left for me, no more light and nothing for me to fight for.
My mind was broken beyond repair, my hopes and dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky.
I left the life I had broken and bloodied.
My death is an inspiration and eye opening.
The message is to the victims like me, unfairly targeted and ridiculed, this is me telling them that they’re not alone, that there are others that hurt. With my death, my message telling them that I, like them, hurt because of other peoples ignorance, their constant need to hurt those that cannot defend themselves or just because they’re different and not some shallow puddle of dirt left there for the world to see.
“There’s no use on dwelling on what used to be Cher” I looked over at my Loa, my grandma, and winced.
“I thought I’d be at peace by now.” I muttered softly.
She gave me a kind smile and shook her head. “Your journey has only just begun Honeychile.”
I shook my head and continued to watch my family; she chuckled and grabbed my hand. “Come now, we have things to do before Baron Samedi can lead you into the afterlife and eternal peace.” Taking one last look back at my grave and grieving family and followed my grandma.
I knew that I still had a long journey ahead of me if I wanted to find true peace.
On November the 22nd, terrible choices led to a tragic end and now there’s nothing but tears to go with the name Alvera Stevens.
Some are lucky when they die.