The unconventional suicide note of a 16 year old.
As a child, I though the night sky was a giant blue blanket wrapping us warm to sleep, and that some doting father had poked holes into it’s fabric to create stars like night lamps for his youngsters. I thought that if you hide under your blanket, the stars would protect you from the monsters under your bed. I thought that these little night lamps would keep me from the goblins in my closet too.
When I grew older, I learned that stars were just balls of gas constantly burning billions of miles away. I learned that night was the suffocation in which people hid from their own broken reflections. I learned that humanity was the only monster I should fear under my bed. I learned that if you keep too many skeletons in the closet, you wouldn’t be able to close the door anymore. Just like that, all the magic in the world was ripped out and tossed away into some soggy green garbage van. All the wonder was buried in a stinking cesspool of expired human endeavor. I sat staring at the rot of decayed dreams, a 10-year-old girl shivering in the dark. Imagine a 10-year-old girl holding her stomach, crying for the pain to go away. I learned then, that crying just annoys people.
There is a black hole in the pit of my stomach. It’s a dark empty void that pulls me inside and stretches me out. It’s what keeps my limbs stuck vacuum packed to my bed. Getting off the matrass takes such a herculean effort; I prefer to remain hungry, blind and alone than attempt to move my heavy legs. Even if I do manage to get off my lazy ass to get the groceries, there’s the constant fear of what people will think of me.
What will they see? Are they looking at me? Was that man glaring at me? Why was he glaring at me? Is there something on my face? I bet he can tell that I haven’t left the house in 4 days. Shit! Whys the milk on the top shelf? Fuck now I’ll have to stretch for it, and if I miss it people will laugh at me. I can’t reach it, I’m going to drop it even if I try, I’m going to drop it and everyone will laugh and point at the incompetent 16 year old who can’t get a fucking carton milk.Oh fuck this, leave the fucking milk behind. Why am I here? Why am I like this? Fuck, fuck, FUCK.
I’d go home and tell my mum I couldn’t find her brand of milk. Grocery shopping’s not worth the anxiety. Nothing was worth the constant anxiety. People are always watching, judging, laughing and pointing always gossiping about the creepy girl with cuts on her arm that doesn’t leave the house. Once the school year began, things changed. I cried myself awake before getting off the bed, washed my face, and practiced smiling in the mirror. I’m a very good actress. I had a paper cut smile rolled out and plastered to my cheeks like a picture perfect portrait, till it became too difficult to stick on.
By the middle of the school year, everything became too much of a hassle, too tiring and just too fucking pointless. So I decided to end my life. Before doing so, it’s extremely important to write and explain why. There were people I was leaving behind and it’s important they understand why. It’s not because I didn’t want happiness or didn’t want to live, contrary to popular belief, but it’s because it’s the only way to end the pain and constant fear.
I went to the ocean at night. The night is easier than daylight. People cant see you so they can’t really judge you. Better still, you don’t have to face yourself. Its always easier to be miserable in the dark, no one can shame you for your misery because no one can see you screaming. I was walk to the edge, I can’t swim so drowning is an inevitability. My limbs are too heavy to resist. My body felt heavy enough to sink like dead weight.
This was my suicide note. I fell into the deep edges of the ocean, expecting the salt water to rapidly flow into y lungs. But without my own consent, I held my breath. Like a sudden burst of pure energy, my body automatically flung out in a mad frenzy. I had no control, just a sudden primitive panic and hysteria, flailing, whipping, and smashing against the waves, until I found a solid rock to cling onto. I flung my loose body onto it, gasping for air. I could feel each deep breath getting pulled into my lungs and squeezed back out. I could hear the mad racket of my heart hammering it’s self against my rib cage.
I didn’t know from where this energy erupted. I couldn’t understand anything anymore. All I knew was that my heart was beating to it’s own constant music as each breath flowed through me like wind through an aerophone. Something was different now. Something had changed. I was alive. I was alive with a treasurable rhythm and movement, one that only I could feel. I lay breathless beneath a city of stars burning billions of light-years away, staring straight into the past at a glow that no longer existed.
I was left completely empty, no thought, emotion, or retractable energy. Nothing.
I closed my eyes, and began to retrace my footsteps back, far back to the first book I ever read as a child, about stars. I remember, I had learned that a lot of the stars we see in the sky were actually dead. I learned that they left behind a light from the past. We stare every night at the spirit of a thousand stars long since perished. I found it beautiful, almost magical that even after they were gone, they could leave behind such a bright light for us to find.
I opened my eyes and reached out trying to grasp at the light. It's then I began to realize, people are so much like stars. We are exploding and imploding from the inside constantly burning with an irreplaceable energy... an energy I didn't know existed inside me. I want to leave the light on behind me, like a mother leaving the night lamp on for her sleeping child. I want to it to burn as a beacon of hope that says "see, you can make it." It is possible. Everything I learned as a child, was the speculation of broken perceptions, and the perception of a fact left no room for possibility. With every perception and misplaced store of nonsensical facts broken, I could finally see possibility.
I understood that people are not small fragile specks blowing with the winds. We are a force of nature, a force of fucking nature, screaming, crying, laughing, hurting, ripping and surviving long after death like stars on the horizon. I did die that night, and what I left behind was the light that exploded from within. I need to keep that light burning. I need to keep it burning like the hope that erupted from Pandora's box.
I am alive.