Love Me Wordlessly | Book 1 ✔

Prologue

I had decided to end my life on March 15th, 2015.

I remember the day so vividly, it could have been yesterday.

I remember the feeling of abandonment, of fear, of alienation, of utter emptiness.

I remember the taste of salty tears as they ran down my face, leaving a stream of wetness in their wake.

I remember the prominent voice in my head telling me to 'just do it'; it told me that once I was gone the pain would end.

That no one even wanted me, so why should I stay?

I remember the overwhelming feeling of pure loneliness I felt that day as I made my slow trek through the empty forest. Not a sound could be heard above my small sniffles and the light crunching of leaves beneath my feet.

Fall had just come and the trees were shedding a colorful variation of red, orange, and yellow leaves. It was beautiful.

I remember the smell of the freshly damp leaves from the light rain that fell the night before.

I remember counting my last steps, my last breaths, my last thoughts...

My body had almost felt as if I were floating – as if I were watching it from the outside, in.

I remember the feeling of holding the gun to my head as I readied myself to be gone once and for all.

All these thoughts were running, racing through my mind.

Memories that I wished to never forget, and ones I wanted to burn.

I had nothing to lose.

The gun, cold in my hand was raised to rest on my right temple.

I held it there with shaking hands as I prepared myself to end the cycle of never ending pain.

There was a beat of silence.

And then there was a booming sound; a gunshot.

It was loud, ringing in my ear.

I remember this intense wave of regret that hit me immediately after.

I asked myself why I did it. I asked myself how I could let the voice in my head convince me to do the one thing I promised to never do.

How could I have been such a coward?

Another beat of silence came and with it the realization that I was still here.

Standing on the ground with the gun to my head and heavy tears in my eyes.

It wasn't me. It wasn't me who fired a gun.

I realized I wasn't dead.

I realized that if that gun had not been shot or if it had been shot seconds later, I would be dead.

I would have submitted to the feelings I had tried so hard to put away.

I almost denied the last person I loved of her dying wish.

At that moment I made another promise to myself, and to her, that I would be strong from that day forward.

I promised to never let my feelings consume me the way they did.

And I've kept that promise until this day.

~   *   ~

Edited June 7, 2021