Insanely sane

-

I opened the wooden window, the red paint cracked all around the glass. This was supposed to be a place I eventually forgot about, but you can't really erase the place you grew up in, especially if you also realize it's only natural to die there.  

The moment the warm summer breeze grazed my face, touched my hair and once I finally took that last breath, before jumping out of the 5 story building, I realized how much people never cared. Maybe they did. But the truth is - they never do, not like they do once you're dead. So I felt it was only fair not to care about them for once.

And then I jumped. To be honest, I'm not even sure why. Why I chose to die this way was beyond me, this place, this moment, this day. If you get frustrated, I can't really blame you because I sure did when I woke up in this hospital, which smelled of blood and medicine mixed with a little bit of death.

I liked to believe I did this for myself, but I knew and I could admit it, because I didn't like to portray myself as a coward, unconsciously, I knew it was that night out, that talk with my dad, the stress about moving away and, last but not least, ladies and gentleman, it was because before exactly 6 months and 2 hours I thought accepting a joint from the most beautiful girl I'd ever laid eyes on would have no other consequence than getting higher than the ginger on "Pineapple express".

I suppose that the 5th floor did me no justice, was the first thing on my mind. Because the first face I saw when I woke was not one I wanted to see, considering I was surely not expecting to be alive. You can't blame me, people who commit suicide don't really hope to be there for the aftermath, that's the whole point of doing it.

My 3-year-old sister was standing by my hospital bed, long enough to only show her face. She looked at me with her bright blue eyes, probably confused from my waken state. I had to have been out for quite a while. Then she grinned, her eyes lighting up as she realized I really was awake and I couldn't help but smile back.

She immediately crawled into my bed, with a little bit of my help, hugging me and saying "sis woke up!" multiple times.

I suppose she was left here alone. Again, why? That's beyond me. Who would leave a 3 year old next to a suicide attempters bed?

That question was soon answered as my mom walked in, not even looking my way, as she had her eyes glued on the phone and said "Eva, I bought you ice cream you asked for." My little sister giggled, climbing out of bed and running to get the ice cream, then ran back to me and asked: "open, please."

I smiled at her, handing her the ice cream after I opened the package.

"Sure, honey, come here, " my mom looked up only now, holding out her hand, then staring at the view before her. She stood like that for a couple of seconds.

I smiled awkwardly, unsure of what to do. As far as I knew there were no guides made about how to act in case you failed at killing yourself.

Mom rushed to me, hugging me tightly: "oh my god, dear. You're awake."

Then she looked at me, frantically kissing my forehead and cheeks meanwhile holding my head. " you're okay, you're okay, "she whispered, holding my forehead connected to hers.

See? She never did that when I was mentally alive. This was one of the moments when I realized I screwed up majorly. Nothing would ever be the same.

"Mom, please," I said awkwardly, not familiar to all the physical proofs of her love for me. She instantly took a step back, looking around: "yes, yes, sure. Is there anything I can do? Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

"Mom.." I said, hoping she would stop word vomiting in front of me, "I'm alive,okay?"

Her eyes snapped to me in a second, indicating I touched a subject I was not supposed to speak loudly about. Once again, there were no guides made about these kinds of situations I didn't know that mentioning death from now on would be like mentioning Voldemort in a Harry Potter movie.

She looked at me with this look that clearly showed how much it pained her to think about it only because it was so tired, weak and vulnerable making me realize she hadn't slept for a while. This really hit home for her. And for a moment I actually felt bad.

"Can I call dad?" was the first question I asked.

Because I knew that if my actions affected someone, it had to be him. I wanted to know he was okay instead of passed out drunk, alone, in the middle of nowhere where his house was located. 

"Uh.. Sure, yes," mom mumbled, digging through her bag and handing me the phone. 

I looked at the phone, dialing his number. Breathe in, breathe out. I didn't know calling my dad would ever make me feel so anxious. 

After a few beeps, I heard his croaky voice: "yes?"

"Hey,dad," I said quietly, the awkwardness overtaking me. 

It took a moment of silence, before he spoke again: "am I dreaming?"

A smile rose to my lips: "neither of us are. Are you alright?" 

He laughed rather forcefully: "shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" 

I shrugged, knowing he didn't even see me do that: "well I'm alive so there's that."

Once again the awkward silence overtook, so I decided to speak: "sorry, too soon."

"Do you want me to come over?" he asked, ignoring my failed attempt of making a joke.

"No, I'm fine. I just wanted to make sure you're okay," I replied honestly.

"Okay. I'm glad you woke up, dear," he said, ending the conversation, "love you."

 I ended the call, a couple of thoughts running through my mind. First of them all being - what the fuck? I wasn't sure if my dad staying the same made me happy or disappointed. For the first time I started to wonder what I wanted my attempt to change. Of course, I didn't expect to stay alive, which kind of became a problem, because now I was unsure of what to do. What I was expected to think, to expect was something I wasn't given much time to think about.

Speaking of which: "mom, you can go now. I'm fine. I just want to rest."

She still hadn't looked away from me, as if I would disappear any second: "I just.. Is it because of that girl?"

This made my eyes snap to hers, giving her a warning: "Mom.." 

She stepped towards me: "Lea, you have to give me something. I need to know why you did it to be able to help you, darling."

"Mom!" I said, louder this time. 

"Fine," she stated, picking up Eva whose mouth was covered with ice cream, "if you won't talk to me, you'll talk to someone, Lea. I won't allow you to do this again."

I rolled my eyes as she dramatically exited the room. How come people always make others pain about themselves? Why do they feel the need to be at the center of everything?

Yet I couldn't help but think about her. Did I do it? Because of her? 

Now, you may not understand why I did what I did, but it will eventually make sense. However, there is this one person without whom the whole story wouldn't be a realistic one. 

As ironic as it is, there's always a Bonnie to a Clyde, there's always that partner in crime with whom you run away from drug dealers, and yes, that is another "Pineapple express" reference. Well, Lea Turner wasn't an exception, I was never an exception anywhere. 

Who knew such an innocent looking girl with these damned chocolate eyes would become the very reason I finally lived life to the fullest and eventually wanted to end my 18 year old life.

So, let's begin my story and dig through my past to find out how the hell I ended up in this incredibly uncomfortable hospital bed.