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IN THE second grade, my little sister experienced her first near death experience. She was playing on the playhouse with her friend, and she wasn't paying attention.
The school bully came up behind her, pressing his foot into the back of her knee. That caused her legs to buckle, sending her over the side of the tall play structure.
The doctors told me that if she had landed a couple feet away from where she did, she would've broken her neck when she hit the concrete. This freaked Leilani out, and since then she hadn't gotten on another play structure.
She had this saying every time she found herself getting anxious. It would keep her calm, keep her collected so she didn't freak the fuck out on everyone.
"Is it worth being anxious over?" Is what she would tell herself every day. Even if it was the smallest thing, it helped. It reminded her that there's nothing wrong, and that she would be perfectly fine.
I don't think she ever knew how to fully take control of her anxiety, because it started to control her. Her body would betray her every single time she thought something was wrong.
First, it was the heart racing. The feeling that your heart is about to burst out of your chest at any given fucking moment. That adrenaline rush that takes over your body as your body temperature increases by the second.
Second, it was the shakes. When she sat down, her leg would bounce up and down against the floor. Shaking the table, shaking her entire body. It was like no matter what she did, the shakes wouldn't stop.
Third, it's the feeling of nausea that takes over your body so fast, you have to run quickly to the toilet in fear that you're about to blow your lunch.
Anxiety is an art, it can either be a good thing, or a very bad thing. For her, it was the worst fucking thing in the world.
In the however many years I've been living, never have I seen Leilani in such a bad state. My little sister, being kept alive by another persons blood and a bunch of fucking machines.
The red liquid flowing through the small IV, pumping into her body; yet her skin is still pale. Too pale.
I know she's dying, but I'm never going to admit it to myself.
She's my little sister, my entire world.
I can either cope with drugs and a bunch of alcohol, or I can go the healthy route and talk to my therapist that I've had since I was sixteen. Either way, she's dying and there's not jack shit I can do about it.
Not a damn thing.
Death is such a funny thing to me. You're just living, breathing, then you die. Like what's the point? Why do we do it? I don't get it.
Where do you go when you die?
Is it pretty?
Is it just blackness like when you're asleep?
Is it like a dream, but with all your passed on loved ones?
I'll never fucking know, but she will in just a couple hours. That's how long the doctors said she has. About six hours until her body finally shuts down, and they remove her off the machines keeping her alive.
I haven't cried, not one fucking time. I refuse to, I haven't cried since I thought my parents died. And I'm not going to cry, because I know I will see my sister again. Whether it be in my dreams, or when I die myself; I will see her again.
Dad hasn't texted any of us back, but I know he knows. He read my text message the day it happened, yet he still refuses to show up to the hospital where his daughter is lying, on her death bed.
But I see how it is, he's a selfish motherfucker who left two children to fend for themselves at an early age; knowing damn well we didn't have shit to our fucking name.
I helped with Brayden, and his death. When Joseph called me and said he was done with, I left the hospital immediately and showed up to the small corner store.
His lifeless body stared at me, and I didn't feel relief. I just felt guilty, because I knew I could've prevented all of this if I just paid closer attention to her. I never did, and now I'll never get the chance to again.
But that's okay.
I'll see Brayden in hell.
authors note hi babes:) sorry for a month break, I've been in a shitty place. also don't wanna end this book just yet. love y'all <3
