It was December when I killed myself. No one came over for the holidays. My usually loud family was quiet and solum. They didn't smile, didn't sing, didn't dance or chat, not even a whisper. My parents and siblings sat in their rooms, looking at nothing.
Amy - my older sister - screamed and threw her room around. The walls had dents and bangs. She was so more upset than I thought she would be. She never paid me any attention unless she was telling me to get lost.
My older brother Alex didn't speak a word. He sat on his room away from anyone else. If you went into his room you would wonder if it was really almost Christmas.
My parents barely spoke - and when they did it was only a couple words. I remember when there was no quiet and we were all so excited for the holidays.
This December, I killed myself. There was no Christmas this year. The snow fell and every house on our block was lit. Ours was the same as always. We didn't have any pudding or cranberries. We didn't get a tree and nowhere in the house could be heard.
I thought they would be happier without me.
