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JustLetIt_Rain
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posted February 6, 2012 at 7:16pm UTC tagged with requests
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- You’re sitting in your room ~ door locked ~ with a pen in your hand and a blank piece of paper in front of you. Your hand is shaking, and the tears begin again - for the third time in the past hour. ‘To my family’ you write at the top of the page, but decide it’s a bad way to begin your letter ~ your suicide letter. You try again, start over ~ again and again, but you don’t know where to begin. No one understands you; no one knows what you’re going through, you’re alone or at least that’s what you think. Nobody would care if you’re alive or not, you mean nothing to nobody. It’s night, and you slip into bed. ’Goodbye’ you whisper into the darkness. And with that, you take your last breath and end it all. Nobody cares, right? Well you thought wrong. It’s a Tuesday the following morning, and when it’s 7:21, your mother comes and knocks on your door. She doesn’t know you can’t hear her she doesn’t know you’re gone. She knocks a few more times, calling your name to open up. When there is no reply from your side of the door, she opens it and screams. She collapses on the ground while your dad rushes to your room. Your siblings have already left for school. Your very weak mother collects all the energy she’s got which is close to nothing to walk over to your bed. She leans over your dead body, crying, squeezing your hand, screaming. Your dad is trying to stay strong, but the tears escape his eyes; calling 000 or 911 with his left hand while his other one is on your mother’s back. Your mother blames herself. All those times she had said ‘no’ to you, all those times she had screamed at you, and sent you to your room over something stupid. Your father will blame himself for not being there for you when you asked for help, for being away from home at work for long. Nobody cares, right? 8:34. There’s a knock on your classroom door; it’s the school principle. She looks more worried than ever. She calls the teacher to the side; all the students worried: what’s going on? The principle then later announces about your suicide. The popular girl that always called you fat and ugly is now blaming herself. The kid that would always copy your homework but treat you like crap ~ he’s blaming himself. The boy that sits behind you ~ the one that always threw things at you during class ~ he’s blaming himself too. The teacher is blaming herself - for all those times she’d scream at you for forgetting your homework, or not listening in class. People are crying, screaming, shocked, in regret of what they did. They’ll all be devastated - even the kids you’ve never talked to before. Still nobody cares about you, right? Your siblings get home. Your mother has to tell them that you’re gone; forever. Your little sister ~ no matter how many times she’s screamed at you, told you she hated you and stole your stuff ~ always loved you, and saw you as her hero; her role model. She now starts to blame herself; why didn’t I do what she told me to do when she told me to? Why did I take her stuff even when she asked me not to? This is all my fault. Your brother gets home ~ the boy that never cries. He’s now in his room; mad at himself ~ he caused your death. All those times he’d played pranks on you. He’s punching holes in his wall, turning over things; he doesn’t know how to deal with the fact that you’re gone. Forever. Nobody cares about you, right? Right? It has been over a month. The door to your room has been closed all this time. Everything is different now. Your brother has to be sent to anger management classes, your little sister cries everyday still waiting for you to come back. Everyday she waits for you to come back home. The popular girls have now turned anorexic. They don’t know how to deal with the pain that they’re feeling. Your father has depression; your mother hasn’t slept for nights it’s all her fault. She’s been crying and screaming every night wishing for you to come back. The boy who would always bother you dropped out of school. The boy that copied your homework now cuts. But nobody cares about you, aren’t I right? Your mother finally decides to go clean out your room. But she can’t do it. She’s locked herself in your room for two days to try to clean up your clothes, your things. But she can’t she can’t say goodbye to you, not yet, not now. Never. It’s your funeral. It’s a big one ~ everybody comes. No one knows what to say. The beautiful girl with the big smile is gone; you’re somewhere else. No one knows what to say, they’re all still shocked. Everyone cries, everyone misses you. They all wish you’d come back but you don’t, and you won’t. Still think nobody cares about you? Think again. Even if people don’t show it, they care about you, they love you. If you kill yourself today or any other day you won’t know just how much you meant to people. If you kill yourself today, it stops your pain, but it pains all the ones who know you for the rest of their life. Suicide is the easy way out - but it’s the wrong choice. Life is beautiful. Yes, it does have its ups and downs everyone has their bad days. Sometimes people go through tough times in their lives like you’re probably going through now but bad times come and go. You might not see the light at the end of the tunnel, but it’s there. No matter how hard life gets, never give up on yourself, or on your life. Take a minute now, and think. If you killed yourself ~ how would the people that love you feel/go through? Can’t think of anything? Well I’ll tell you: tears, tears, and more tears. Devastation. Guilt. Pain. Broken. Regret. Miserable. If after reading this you still feel suicidal, there are people that can help you. I’m here for you whenever you need me, and I’ll be more than happy to listen to you and try to help you feel better. There are teachers, parents, grandparents, neighbors, adults, councilors ~ they’re all there for you whenever you need them.
- I used to not wear makeup. I used to not have acne. I used to not straighten my hair. I uses to not care what anyone thought. I used to think hugging a boy was scary. I used to think that there was no such thing as "popularity." I used to go weeks without crying. I used to think everone was my bestfriend. I used to love school. I used to get all A's. I used to be happy. What happened?
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- We met in kindergarten. We were best friends. She always told me she loved my eyes. I didn't quite know why. I was in love with her, so of course my face lit up immensely whenever she said it. She was beautiful, kind, and extremely funny. We'd be talking about nothing, and she'd turn to me and whisper, "I like your eyes." One day, I was playing basketball, waiting for her to drive over to my house to have a game with me. Suddenly, I got a phone call. It was her mom. She was in a panic. I couldn't quite understand what she was saying. It sounded like, "Aaron, come quick! Kelsey, accident, Main Street! Blood. Come now!" I had no clue what happened, so I ran to Main Street with my basketball shorts and a tee shirt on. I saw Kelsey's mom helplessly crying, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. I saw a totaled car, blood everywhere. Then I saw her, Kelsey. My heart stopped as I frantically ran over to her. "Kelsey? Kelsey!" She was unconscious. I started crying. I know it isn't very manly, but I couldn't help it. Before I could say anymore, the medics took her away, the main source of blood coming from her head. I went to the hospital that night, I went every night. in fact, the only time I left was to go out to eat, but that's it. The doctors tried getting me to leave, but I refused. It was all my fault. If it wasn't for me, wanting to play basketball with her, she wouldn't be going through this. It was already four days, and she hasn't woken up. On the fifth day, I saw her eyes gently open. "Kelsey?" I called. She wasn't quite awake yet. Suddenly, doctors came rushing in, telling me I had to wait outside. I did, for a few hours. One of the doctors finally came out saying, "I understand that you're Kelsey's friend, Aaron?" "Yes," I whispered. He bit his lip. "She woke up, she's fine, but I'm afraid she has long term memory loss." "Are you serious?" I almost shouted. "I'm afraid so." I didn't meet his gaze. I couldn't. I wasn't going to say anything, so he spoke again. "You can go see her if you want, but she doesn't remember anything, not even her mom." I walked in, trembling in horror. I saw her. She looked helpless as she slept. I waited a few hours, until I saw her eyes opening gently again. I expected doctors to run in, rushing me out. Instead, she looked me straight in the eyes, and whispered, "I don't know you, but I like your eyes."
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