Because I'm AfraidMature

I wrote this work several years ago as a way to cope with massive inner turmoil. This is a historic piece for me as I thought all of this and felt all of this. While I was never hospitalized for self harm, the people and our interactions were very real. After I wrote this, I'd gone through another tough period and added a less than happy 'conclusion' that I feel tarnishes a good piece. To preserve the significant, I moved this 'ending' to a second page.

I chant.
“This one’s for the assholes. This one’s for the freaks. This one’s for the stupid fuckers. Trying to keep me incomplete.”

My ipod is blasting in my ears, and as I glide the blade across my wrist, it is the only thing I want to hear.

...

I was playing a game once, where I promised to tell the whole truth. My friend was just asking me questions, and she asked me a peculiar one. She asked me to answer it as I wished and to take it as I would.

She asked me “Why”.

I told her it was because I was afraid.

Because I’m afraid.

...

“I want to fucking break it. I want to crush you from the inside. I’ve got no time to fake it. I’ve got no time to waste with your kind.” the blade feels good. It’s cold metal tingles between the flaps of skin. I’ve lost a lot of blood, and my head feels light.

...

I’ve always toyed with the idea of death. More so with killing myself, but those thoughts were always just thoughts. It was just recently that I felt like I had to do it. The feeling that I wanted it all to finally end.

...

My eyes are fluttering. It feels good. Finally, that relief. It will all be fine. I won’t care if they know. I won’t care who I hurt. I’ll be dead, and I won’t care. I close my eyes for a moment, and when they open again I can see the door move. They cannot be home yet, I don’t want them to be. They won’t understand. Conciousness… slipping… stop… I…

...

About a month ago, I was still in a relationship. About a two months ago, I wanted to end the relationship.

I was afraid.

I didn’t know what was happening, I was unhappy, and I was second guessing myself.

No sense being in an unhappy relationship, right?

I made a cock-and-bull story about how it was better for her, that I couldn’t make her happy, and even though it was completely true, I had other intentions on my mind. There’s no way I ended it because I was afraid for her. It was selfish, it was ass, and I should have done it sooner.

But when I did do it.

She didn’t like it.

The last week was emotional. She cried a lot, I couldn’t make her stop, and she said a lot of things. She never insulted me, tried to hurt me, and promised me she wouldn’t end up hating me.

Three words: Load of crap.

She was saying things about me, insulting me to our friends. She was angry at me, and passing it all off as if she was instantly over me. She probably was. I mean, she said it herself that it was a stupid mistake in the first place.

It hurt me more than it hurt her.

...

I can’t hear the music anymore.

Fuck.

Light pierces through the cracks as I try and open my eyes. There is someone sitting over me, I don't know who she is, but she seems scared. I must have bled all over the floor because she is covered in blood too. My eyes are heavy though… I think i’ll sleep…

...

I’ve found a new girl I like. Always have jumped my heart from person to person.

I love her a lot, just like I always have.

I don’t think she likes me though. Nothing really there to like anymore, especially not now.

I hate lust.

I hate being a teen.

I hate how I feel.

I hate myself.

It's because I'm afraid.

.

I told someone a secret, and It was a big one. Something i’m afraid of people knowing.  That was four days ago. When I told her, I felt a pit in my stomach.It wasn’t just any feeling of defeat or depression or unease.

I wanted to die.

I’ve never wanted to die like that before. I was ready to kill myself then. I didn’t like it.

We talked about that secret for a little while. Their choice of words didn’t help me at all. I wanted to die more and more. My mind raced. She was going to tell someone, they would tell someone, the word would spread. My life would be crushed.

But, maybe I wouldn’t have had these fears though, if maybe my “friends” would just have kept their damn mouths shut. There is nothing in the world like being proven wrong. Nothing like finding out the people you trust don’t care enough about you to keep what you tell them to themselves.

I’m not worth it.

I’m just not worth it.

I’m filthy, disgusting, disturbed, wrong, and completely unworthy of other people. I don’t deserve to live the life i’ve got. Others deserve it so much more.

I hate myself.

It's because I'm afraid.

...

Theres a steady beat in the background. A nice electronic “beep. beep. beep.”. Its bright enough that I don’t want to open my eyes, but I try it anyway.

The image of a hospital room seared my eyes, and I shut them tight again. I must have been out for a while, but as soon as I start wondering how long I feel a hand touch mine.

“Thank god she found you when she did. The doctors told us-”

“Why did she come” I cut in. My eyes were cold as I stare my mother down. She's slow to respond.

“She said she knew something was wrong. Why did you”

“How did she get in?” I cut her off again. Her eyes start watering, but I have to look away. Seeing her cry reminds me of what I've done to her, I don’t want to think i’d have caused her anything more for pain than could be helped.

“She kicked open the door. Sean. Why?”

There’s the question

“It doesn’t matter.” I told her.

“It matters Sean. It matters enough if you’re willing to kill yourself over it.” She was mad at me, but It wasn’t like I was trying to kill her.

“It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t.”

“Tell me Sean. Baby, please. I want to help you.” Tears are free falling down her cheeks. “I just… I don’t think I could go on without you… Just please… Tell me why…”. It hurts. It hurts to look at her and know that I’ve just done another thing wrong. It would have been easier if they didn’t save me.

I’m despicable.

“I just… It…” What were my reasons? What if I tell her my reasons? They are just stupid reasons, how the fuck am I supposed to make them seem ‘noble’ and not just another teenage suicide cliché? I can’t tell her, I just can’t.

Because I’m afraid.

It’s all because I’m afraid.

“I have my reasons.” I turn away from her. I can’t bare the sight of her weeping like that. She began to talk, but the sliding of the glass door silenced her.

“Hey Sean,” Hilary faintly smiled, “How are you feeling?”

I’m feeling angry. How could she?

“Fine.” I reply. I have nothing to say to her.

“You scared me a lot Sean. Promise me you will never do that again.” The smile left her face. Looking at her hurts to, so I keep my focus to the ceiling.

“Would you leave me alone please, I need some rest.” The lights are bright and they hurt my eyes, but I know I should not watch the two leave.After moments of hesitation, the door opens and closes again, and now I’m alone.

How could I have been so stupid?

What’s wrong with me? I’m afraid. Why am I such a coward? Its because my fears are irrational. They are stupid. They are not worth anything. Real people have real problems.

I reach one hand around to find tissues, and the other I wipe my tears with. There is no box. “Dammit” I choke out between sobs. “God fucking dammit.” The tears are comming harder, every emotion just coming to me faster and faster. Its too much to handle. While punching in the air my eyes fall on the bandage on my arm. Hiding the tattoo of my failures.

Some sick twisted fascination sits in my mind. What does it look like? My new occupation allows my hysteria subsides. I’ve stopped crying. All my focus is placed upon the bandage. All my thoughts are wondering what I actually did. Did it really happen? Did I actually go through with it? What did I try to do?

...

About a year ago, maybe two, I met a girl. She was really nice, and I loved talking to her. I loved how we never seemed to run out of things to say. I loved how we never seemed to stop talking, even when it was past curfew. I loved her.

She was my first real crush. A crush I took very seriously. A crush that, when rejected and turned down repeatedly, caused me to hurt inside. The crush that started my problems.

I told her I loved her three times. Three times it took for me to understand no. Three sets of failure.

I couldn't get over her for a year. A year straight.

In that year I lost my confidence. In that year I lost my joy. In that year I realized how worthless I was. She ruined me.

Somehow, I closed off my feelings for her. I put it away, someplace inside me where I will never have to deal with it again. Some place small and dark. Some place where It won’t scare me. I barely speak to Christine anymore. That’s her name, Christine.

Like a fool, as soon as I was christine. When I did I threw my heart to another person. There was something different about this one, something stronger. Something with more basis. Unfortunately for me, my “friends” can’t keep secrets, and word got to her that I liked her. She was sorry about it, but she didn’t feel anything for me. We were “just friends”.

It was “just” another “just friends” situation, and my heart was defeated soon enough.

...

My nose is bleeding, and I can’t seem to find the call button for a nurse. Maybe I don’t deserve the tissues. Yea, thats it. No, thats a stupid idea. How can you not deserve tissues? By deserving to suffer thats why. I deserve to suffer.

I’m so screwed up.

My eyelids are too much. I need to sleep.

...

The nurse came into my room armed with a sponge.

“Good morning Sean.” She said. Today the phrase is an oxymoron. My arm is aching in pain, my head feels heavy, I feel slightly feverish, and I feel extremely weak. Slowly adjusting my eyes to the new light, she persists in talking to me. “Today we need to run a few tests before we can release you. You lost a lot of blood last night.” I sigh and roll my freshly awakened eyes.

Today is going to suck.

.

After a series of tests, a sponge bath, and many new bandages, the nurse escorts me to my room for the night. They each (the doctors) told me not to worry, that I’m okay, and that everything was going to be fine.

I just tried to kill myself, why do people think I want to be “okay”?

My mother had come in the middle of the sponge bath, as did Hilary. They were worried about me again, thought I might have needed someone to talk to.

I really wish they would go away. I don’t want them here. I just want to be alone.

Its embarrassing. It really is. Hours of silence pass by before Hilary burst.

“Dammit Sean. Tell me whats wrong!”  She couldn’t take it. Her anger, taking me by surprise, causes my head to snap to her. My mother is in tears again and I hadn’t even noticed her. Hilary is getting angrier and angrier but I don't care.

I glare,”Why should I tell you?”

“Because I care!”

“Not enough to leave me alone.”

“Dammit Sean. I may not love you, but I sure as hell care about you. Just stop it, and talk to me!”

“I can’t talk to you about it. I can’t talk to you about anything. You don’t care. You shouldn’t care. I don’t care!” I scream my reply, and an unquestionable fury arced across her face.

“Don’t tell me I don’t fucking care. I broke into your window to get into your house. I fucking ran around till I found the bathroom door. I fucking Kicked the Door off of it’s hinges to get to you. I used my shirt as something to hold your arm closed with. I was covered in your FUCKING BLOOD ! I waited with you, horrified you would die in my arms. THINKING YOU MIGHT DIE BECAUSE OF ME . Don’t you DARE tell me I don’t care about you. Don’t you DARE .”

I’m such an asshole. I’m such a loser. I break down into tears again, and Hilary’s expression quickly changes to sympathy. “I’m sorry” I breathe between gasps of breath. Hilary rushes up to hold me, patting and carressing my head.

“It’s okay. Just relax.”

“No i’m sorry. I don’t deserve friends like you. All I do is fight and bother.”

“Its okay Sean, it really is. Just relax, take a deep breath.” I nod to her and try deep breathing. Hilary looks to my mother and motions for her to leave. She silently obeys.

Once through the door Hilary looks at me again, compassion in her eyes. “Sean. Please tell me what is wrong.”
.

About five months ago, this girl and l got close. About five months ago, we started dating. About five months ago, I was the happiest person I’ve ever been. (ever been is since the 5th grade, but I’ll get into that some other time). I thought I loved her. She was my second best friend at the time, and we were getting better and better aquainted as time went by. We had fun, but fun times will end.

...

“I can’t tell you. You will laugh at me”. Its the truth. My reasons are stupid.

“Listen, Sean. You can tell me anything. I am here to listen, and I think I deserve and answer. Mkay? Your blood stains pretty badly, ya’ know?” She cracks a smile, and I return it.

“Okay. Lately I’ve been feeling kind of down…”

...

Those fun times ended hard. In the last month, we just argued and argued. We argued without meaning. We argued without thought. Every time we spoke it would just end into a fight over nothing. Why fight over nothing? In the final week I had to stop it. I was hurting her, and I never wanted to cause her anguish. I had it all planned out, talk to her to her face, let her know the problems, and seal the deal with a look into her eyes.

But you know life.

The details don’t matter, but I was forced into telling her straight out over the phone. She didn’t believe it, and the entire “break up” took several days. Several days I writhed in pain. Several days I felt horrible for hurting her. I was sorry.

...

Hilary was thinking hard. She didn’t know what to say, though she opened her mouth a few times to say it. I knew they were dumb reasons.She probably thought I had much better reasons. I start stuttering apologies when she tells me to “shut up.”

“Sean, you don’t have to keep these things inside. If you are thinking those thoughts you need to tell someone. You need to tell them right away. And don’t worry about Ashley.I’m sure she won’t tell anyone your secret if it means so much to you.” She reaches forward and holds my hand. As her soft loving hands touch cold broken ones, my heart drops to my stomach. How could I do this to her. I shouldn’t have told her, she will just worry. She will just be sad. She will never love me. Just like before, she will never love me.

“Sean. Look at me.” I can't. I don't want to, but I force myself to look at her. Our eyes lock.

“I will always be there for you.You can call me when ever you need me. I am here for you. I promise. "

“Okay” I whisper. I can’t muster up anything else.

“Now, what would you like for dinner?” She stood up as she spoke, walking over to the window to motion my mother to return. As my mother comes in the room, I wipe my eyes.

“What do they have?”

“Well, its all really bad hospital food, but I’m sure they have hot-dogs.”

“Hot-dogs sound fine.” I nod to her. She is so special. She cares so much about me, and she is so beautiful. I hope I don’t cause her pain. I couldn’t bare it. I’ll stick it out for her. I’ll try harder. My cracked smile grows full as I continue to look to her.

“What would you like to drink?”

“Do they have Iced Tea?”

“I think they might. Some hot-dogs and an Iced Tea coming right up.” As she turns to leave the room,I catch a glimpse of her smile fading to a frown. My heart falls lower, my spirit dies. She was putting on a show. I am hurting her. What have I done? My mother is sitting at my bed side again, and while we wait for Hilary to return with food, we make conversation.She asks me if I’m alright.

I lie.

...

It was a series of two bad weeks, rampaging continuous bad days, that led to my attempt of suicide. It started with a cold. Fluid in the lungs, head ache, tired, and a temperature around 99. I’d been ill since thursday, and due to the illness I couldn’t finish my chores. It was that Sunday that I was to go to a friend’s birthday party. Now, I’m not invited to a lot of parties, and I never get to see this friend, so I thought I should tough out the illness and go. My father had other ideas. While panting and slowly changing, my father stuck his head into my room.

“When are you cutting the grass?” He asked. I knew were this was going.

“I can’t, my head, and chest hurts… Physically I can’t” but he cut me off.

“So you’re missing the party? Alright” and he walked off. He didn't even wait for my reply.

Naturally, I called my friend and told him I couldn’t make it. It took me three hours to cut the grass. Three hours I pushed the mower around while coughing and weezing. What did my father do? Sit around at the TV and watch football. The party required you to be there at 12. I finished at 2.

The next day, was worse. Since breaking up with my girlfriend, I had been fighting with all of my regular friends. Fighting with all of them but two, Hilary and Ashley.

Weeks ago, while talking to Ashley online, I convinced Ashley to tell me something. It had been bothering her, and I wanted to know what was wrong. I thought I could help.

Ashley had a crush on me. She had had a crush on me for a long time. I told Hilary.

At the time, I thought it would help. I was wrong.

I am in love with Hilary. I love so many things about her, and that Monday we spent time hanging out. At some point we started talking. For some reason I brought it up. Stupid me. She still didn’t like me. She didn’t know why. She didn’t have much more of a reply other than “I’m sorry.”

Figures.

Now Hilary knew Ashley’s secret. I thought that Hilary would keep it a secret. I trusted her to stay quiet.

You know what they say, two can keep a secret if one is 6 feet under.

.

So Tuesday came to pass, nothing really bad happened other than my build up of sorrow and defeat. IT was the average bad day, nothing was going my way.


It was Wednesday that things really started to go down hill.

I went to school and came back, easy as ever. I did my homework, and went online like I usually do.

There on Facebook was my friend Ashley. Her status message said “What part of “this conversation never happened didn’t you understand.”. She knew I told.

I sent her a message “How are you?”

She replied, “How do you think?”.

We talked for hours like that, she yelled at me, I apologized, she made me feel bad, I apologized. It was my fault, I shouldn’t have done so. I had promised not to tell, and I broke that promise. I was sorry for the problems I have now caused between her and her friends. I was sorry for the problems I caused her and her friends. I was sorry for everything wrong I’ve ever done to that group of friends.

She told me I should be.

I told her I was more of a nuisance than anything to that group of friends.

She told me that I was.

I listed all the things I’ve ever done wrong to the group.

I broke my ex’s heart.

I make Hilary sad with my affection.

I couldn’t keep the secret that Ashley made me promise to keep.

I fight and argue with Alex all the time.

I can’t find it in me to trust Katie.

She stopped yelling at me. She said “no don’t.” but I continued. It was true.

I was more of a nuisance than anything.

I should be alone.

I shouldn’t coexist with people. I shouldn’t talk to them, interact with them, because all I cause is bother. I don’t help, I hinder.

She told me to stop, but I ignored her still.

I apologized again. I apologized because I couldn’t make it up to her.

I apologized for bothering her in the first place.

She told me to stop. She recanted the things she had said before. She took back that all the drama stems from me. That all I am is a nuisance. She told me that I am a nice guy, that I am funny and enjoyable at the table.

I told her I wasn’t any of those things. I was not worthy.

It was the first time I got that feeling.

Thursday came.

I broke another promise. I had broken it a while ago, but finally it came to haunt me.

My girlfriend told me a couple things about how she felt about our friends. She didn’t make me promise not to tell, but I get the impression it was kind of obvious.

I had told Hilary, and again, word got out.

Strangely enough, Rebecca (the ex girlfriend) wasn’t mad at me. I told her why she should be mad at me, and we started arguing. Actually, we didn’t just argue. We fought.

We fought for hours. The very last thing she said to me before I went to bed was: “im not here to tell you what you are or what you’re not. Its not for me to decide. I’ll let someone else knock that into you.”

I got the feeling.

“The feeling” I keep referencing so often is the desire to die. The feeling in the pit of your stomach that you don’t deserve to live. The feeling in the pit of your stomach thatsays “its not worth it anymore. Kill yourself”. Over thecourse of the two weeks, I got the feeling four times.The first three hurt for roughly one second.

The last made me take action.

...

Night came fast. I’m alone again. Well, almost alone. There is another person in my room now, he has pneumonia. He is fast asleep and snoring. I don’t think that I’ll be able to sleep tonight. I’m being released tomorrow and I’m not too thrilled. My fever went down, and I’m feeling better, so I think I’m going to go to school the day after tomorrow. That isn’t going to be fun.

I can imagine it now, all of the other kids pointing at me and laughing. Making fun of me because I couldn’t even kill myself.

“Stupid emo, why don’t you go finish the job?”

Why don’t I?

No stop. Get better for Hilary. Be happy for Hilary. Someday you can show her the letter. Someday…

...
.
...

Something hits my bed and I wake up. I guess I did fall asleep. Still groggy, I look and see the nurses struggling to get Mr.Snores-a-lot into a wheel chair.

My mother walks into the room as the nurses leave and smiles at me.

“Good morning sunshine. I just signed the papers. Get dressed and take your medicine so that we can go home.”

Home is the last place I want to be.

An awkward air fills the car as we leave the parking lot. She doesn't seem to be talking much about my motives. Hilary must have told her everything. As my mother rattles on about work, she smiles.  She must think I'm an idiot. Trying to off myself out of fear.

That’s all I am.

A coward.

Father is watching TV as my mother caters to him. Its the average everyday life of our home.

Sitting in my room, staring at the wall, I pick at my bandages. There's nothing I want to do anymore. Nothing is good. Huh, I wonder if the bathroom is cleaned up. I stand up, walk out to the hall, and wander down towards the stairs. I can see from here that they didn’t replace the door.

It turns out blood can really stain pristine white tiles and a counter.

I stand and stare at the place that, just three days prior, I was in the midst of trying to die. My arm twinges in pain. I grab the bandage with my free hand and wince.

Its a memoryache.

But I remember, the blade felt so good. It felt so raw. As my blood was pouring out, my worries went with it. It felt good.


Its been a few hours now, as I reminisce over days gone by. I’m still sitting here, I’m still waiting here, trying to think of something to do. You know, just sitting here thinking about it seems to be fun. Well, not fun, but I’m enjoying myself none the less.

But what about my bandages? I wonder what they look like. I grab the frayed end that I had been playing with, and slowly rip it from my skin. It hurt so much. If I rip faster the pain gets worse, but if I rip slower the pain lasts longer. Such a decision to make.

The choices spin around my brain as I crack a smile.

I should have the pain. How about I meet somewhere in the middle. Not too fast, but not too slow.

Up the length of my forearm, I tear off the bandage. Up the length of my forearm are two parallel, hairless, red streaks. Up the length of my forearm are scars.

I guess I really did it.

The evidence is right there.

Too be etched into my history for years.

They look marvelous though. The broken off red color. I love it.

Knock. Knock. My eyes flick up to the mirror, and I register the sound. Someone is at the door.

I walk downstairs, cross the foyer and open the front door.

Hilary is standing directly in front of me. My scarred arm flies behind my back as I smile to her and say, “Well this is a surprise.”

“School let out a bit ago, so I decided to come over.” That’s a little obvious.

“Its nice to see you. And good to be home.” Such a lie. “Do ya wanna come inside?”

“Yes.” I step aside as she steps in. Her hair flicks up under my nose and I catch a whiff. She smells beautiful. What was I just doing upstairs?

“Do you have anything to eat, I’m kind of hungry.”

“Yea. There’s a sub in the fridge.” Maybe. Maybe I could make her mine if I stopped. I need to fix it. I need to fix me. She opens up the fridge, bends over and begins rummaging around for the sub. My mother walks through and passes her.

“Oh hello Hilary! What are you doing here?”

“I just came by to see Sean.”

She is so amazing. I’ve decided. I will do better.

The End

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