People Like Us

Start of Something

It was four days before my first Senior Year exam when I committed suicide. Well, attempted suicide... technically. There weren't any rushed decisions. Drastic yes, but never rushed. It had been months since the S-word, that had nothing to do with sex, had been hanging over my head and clouding every thought I could possibly have. And boy did I have thoughts. I would be thinking about getting something to eat from the fridge and suddenly it would pop in my head that it would be extra brilliant if I just went inside the fridge and let myself freeze there. It didn't sound half as funny as it did when I was thinking it. In short, it was months of fighting with myself.

It all started as a normal day. I don't think anybody committing suicide started that day saying to themselves, "hmm, what a lovely day! Let me get rid of myself this afternoon."

Or morning.

Or night.

Or noon.

I drove with my brother, Nicholas, to school. As usual, Nick, jumped out of the car before I even properly parked it. It doesn't matter how many times I tell her to stop that. He's a sophomore and he's... active. Maybe even going through that rebellious stage everyone keeps talking about. I went through with my lessons. There wasn't much to do in classes, with school ending, so the teachers did everything they could to keep the students occupied. Then I ate lunch with the group of kids I usually hang out with, getting updates from them. The usual. The color of Ms. Hudson, the math teacher's, socks.

Then Jane, the skinny kid with braces, who's usually silent spoke up. She's a sophomore, but usually hangs out on our table. She told that the 90's- themed sleepover in her house was cancelled. She told a long as hell story about how her mother found her last report card and grounded her. It actually took half the lunch break and she was still expressing how sorry she was that we couldn't come over and she couldn't hang out with us. Honestly, they had an HD television and their basement was an epic TV room. Of course it all went out of the window when not moments after Jane left, Nick made her way towards my seat, informing that he'd be having a late night call of duty marathon at Mark's. It was code for, "I'm going to have sex at Jane's tonight." I shrugged and wished her good luck. I even managed to slip a couple of condoms in her backpack. I had them from the last sex education program and it wasn't like I wasn't going to use it.

Then I drove home alone. My parents were both at work, so I used the silence to do my assignments, which wasn't much. I watched Rent, depressing but usual choice.

It hadn't gotten dark but I went into my bed, then, as I'd do most of the days. I started playing games on my phone. It was either Doodle Jump, Angry Birds or Subway Surfers, I don't really remember and I sincerely doubt it actually mattered. Maybe if I'd broken a record or something, but I hadn't. I remember thinking a lot during the game, nothing particular, just a cloud of sadness and general disappointment... over everything.

After a few rounds of losing, I got up and sat on the floor beside my bed and drew a razor, just one slash, against my left wrist. And that's all I remember.

Or at least that's what I continue to tell my therapist.

Lies...

You couldn't forget an experience like that no matter how old or how deranged you become. A memory like that follows through your whole lifetime. A lifetime that I had chosen not to have anymore.

I remember crying a lot, tears that broke away the numbness, mixing with the blood running down, so much blood.

I remember pain, raw and real physical pain that overpowered the emotional one.

I remember slipping in and out of consciousness, hearing voices, which she later on found out had been Nick. He'd been kicked out of Jane's house after her parents had made a spontaneous plan to take the family to the theater production of "Funny Girl".