Sleep Tight Tonight.

Dreams.

It’s so hard to take in – the death of a friend. Or, I imagine, the death of anyone you know really. It has been a few weeks now since Miley jumped from the bridge in town, but I still haven’t properly processed it. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and think about seeing her at school before I even remember that she is not here anymore... She won’t be here ever again.

It seems impossible, wrong even, that someone you’ve known for so long can just suddenly not be there anymore. It’s like she’s vanished into thin air, so quickly, leaving only a whisper of herself behind... The hardest thing though, is that everything stays the same. Miley is dead and for some reason I feel like the world should stop, but it hasn’t. At times I sit and wonder how the days are still passing, how I am still going on about my life, now that she is not with me.

Every night since the day I found out about her commiting suicide, I have laid in bed and thought that I’d never wake up. Every night I have waited for the universe to change. Every night I have waited for the world to start crumbling and falling apart without her there.

But it’s not life that’s falling apart – it’s me.

And that’s when the scariest thought enters my head and sticks there until I force it away. Miley is dead, but soon everyone will forget. Miley is dead, but the world is still spinning around. Miley is dead, but I still wake up and get through the day. Why? Because we’re all insignificant. When we die, not everything falls apart, because the world doesn’t need us.

Whenever I realize that, I feel that maybe I understand why Miley took her own life. She knew everyone would carry on without her, she knew how insignificant she was to most. So why do we keep fighting through it? Why don’t we all just give up?

The more times I ask myself that, the less answers I come up with.

It never used to be this bad; I never used to be this sad. You know that, remember? Remeber the days when we were together and I was so happy? I miss that.

No, I don’t remember – and not because I’ve forgotten you, but because you never seemed fully happy.

I’d always wanted a friend and when you came along it felt like finally someone had listened to my wishes. Having you there everyday was a reminder that things weren’t all bad; it made me realize that there could be an escape, light at the end of a dark, suffocating tunnel.

I was thinking about suicide before I met you. It was never really serious. Sometimes I just thought about never having to get out of bed in the morning, never having to feel so tired and sad everyday of my life. I’d dream up fantasy scenarios where I would jump straight from a tall building, or sleepily slide towards death with a stomache filled with pills.

It got to a point where sometimes I’d dream about dying. I’d always wake up before I died and then I’d spend the night awake and crying to myself, because reality had smashed into me. Because my dream was only a dream. I scared myself sometimes, part of me didn’t want to hurt myself – thought it was stupid. However, a larger, darker side of me thirsted for it.

I try to imagine ever feeling that way and I can’t.

One time I even tried to turn to my Mum, which is something I never do.

My body freezes; Miley has never mentioned her family to me before. Stupid as it sounds, I’d never thought about her having parents, even though she obviously did. For the first time, I wonder what they are like, how it is to be a part of their family.

I’d been crying for most of the night, unable to sleep after my dream. I heard my Mum’s feet shuffle down the stairs and for some reason I followed her down.

I found her sat at the table, drinking black coffee and savouring the taste of her cigarette. Her hair was greasy and tangled, skin pale. My Mum did not get out of bed often and so looking at her then, I felt like this was my chance.

‘Why do good things happen to bad people, Mum?’

Miley’s voice is quivvering, her eyes lost in some deep memory. There is a long pause before her glazed eyes seem to snap back to the camera, shining with fresh tears.

She just looked at me and carried on smoking. Didn’t speak a single word. After a while she didn’t even bother to pay me any attention and instead turned her eyes towards the window. I saw tears stream from her eyes and felt bad about upsetting her – bad enough to begin to cry again.

She never comforted me, nor I her. After sitting in silence for what seemed like forever, I left the kitchen and went back to my bedroom my tears dried out, leaving a hot trail of anger in their place.

You see, Luke, my Mum’s just as messed up as I am. She spends her days sleeping in the dark, her curtains blocking off any trace of light. She doesn’t talk much, to me and or my Dad, and spends her waking moments smoking or being forced to eat.

I think of my Mum and the way she’s up early every morning cooking me a huge breakfast before school. She still kisses my forehead before I can rush through the door, not even caring that I cringe away in embarrassment. She welcomes and me and Dad back to the house with the smell of freshly baked cookies, or a huge roast dinner. Then we all sit down at the table together and talk.

She’d never ignore me, or spend a whole day in bed.

Once again I feel sick with anger, at myself and Miley’s Mum. Me for not appreciating what people don’t have, and her Mum for not appreciating what she had.

I could have talked to my Dad, I know that. Despite every bad thing that seems to happen to me, my Dad is not one of them. He works all day and then comes home and spends all his time convincing Mum to have a shower, to eat something, to get out of bed for an hour.

If I’d have asked, he’d have put everything on hold to talk to me, cheer me up, comfort me. But how is that fair? It’s not his fault he’d been lumped with such a messed up wife and daughter, that he was to work most of the time just so we can afford the bills and then has to try so hard at home instead of relaxing. That is why I never talk to my Dad about feelings – I don’t want to hurt him even more.

I find her words confusing; killing herself would surely hurt her Dad more than talking to him would. I press stop on the DVD and feel an overwhelming sense of relief when Miley’s voice vanishes, her face dissapearing from the screen. I want to be in silence for a while, to have some time to think things over before I can hear anymore.

I switch off my TV and get under the covers. I try and fail to sleep right until morning.