From Fat to Phat

|31| Smack a bitch

CATFIGHT

/ˈkatfʌɪt/

INFORMAL

a fight between women.

The question of "why" often haunts the minds of those bereaved by suicide. Frank Campbell once said that people who have lost a loved one to suicide often fall into a "Canyon of Why"—an abyss that becomes impossible to climb out of because the loved one is never there to answer the question. While the world can never really know all the reasons why people die of suicide, there are some explanations that can help them fathom how individuals might find themselves in such a state of despair.

Pain, resentment, self degradation, depression, anxiety disorders , some people are just born with no fear of dying. These same people just come into the world with a temperament for risk-taking. The list could go on but the truth is none of these people could ever know how it really feels like, no amount of PhD's or any form of schooling could ever try  and comprehend how it feels like being trapped in a body that never felt like yours to begin with. No one will ever get the answer to that "why" because there is a reason why they, she or he left without saying a word, they knew even if they tried to explain it wouldn't make a difference so the only way out was end it with a permanent solution not the temporary bandaids that hold us by a thread, the pills and sessions of counseling.

My family never had the balls to ask me why perhaps it was because I lived, or maybe they were too afraid to ask me or maybe they didn't want to know because the answer might be too painful for them to endure. Besides I highly doubt I would have said anything even if they had asked. The letters I had left for them had been filled with how much I loved them but I never wrote why I guess I thought that way they would have some type of closure.

Last night I couldn't sleep. I wasn't sure if it was the anger or the fact that I cried till I couldn't no more. I spent the night thinking what if no one had found me that night I tried to end this with a permanent solution. Would I be happier? Or would I be in a deep slumber for the rest of eternity, no heaven or hell just blank. The thing with being suicidal is you block out the good things and you focus all your energy on the bad things, the traumatic experiences and events I guess in a way it makes it easier to end your life because you convince yourself that there is nothing more to life for.

I sat in the bathtub from three in the morning with my knees folded up against my chest and my arms circled around them. The water had been scorching hot. I watched my skin turn red and the prickling pain I felt didn't matter as I sat there for hours till the water turned cold. When I first I attempted to kill myself it wasn't a rash decision the idea had been looming over my head for a couple of years. It was only when something happened that pushed me to the edge and that's when I knew I couldn't do this living thing anymore, to me sixteen years had been more than enough. After I came from the hospital that day I had found out all the locks on the doors and been removed, the harmful substances such as bleach had been removed from sight. The knives are under lock and key and sharp objects where thrown out. My parents had basically suicide proofed the house. The first few weeks I couldn't go so much as a second alone someone had to be with me, my sisters would come bearing board games or magazines to make it seem like they wanted to just hang out but I knew what they were doing. Even though no one formally said it, that I was too fragile to be left alone it was pretty clear that it's what they had all agreed on.

I would be lying if I said some days I felt alright I would genuinely smile at times not the fake one I had mastered over the years. And I got to really know my family better, my parents put off work for a month just to stay with me. And we would all sit on the table for dinner and breakfast, something we hadn't done in years. Slowly I gained their trust again and I would get a few minutes alone as the months went by. And when doctor Williams cleared me for school I thought maybe I had jumped the gun, maybe if I gave this life thing another shot maybe this time I might actually be happy. And for sure the last few months have been alright I made friends, my grades were up again, my sisters called me at least four times a week, I was taking my antidepressants and my anxiety medication accordingly. And although it was hard I had been keeping up with my exercising I wasn't genetically built to gorge on Doritos and skittles and be guaranteed not gain a few pounds if I didn't work out. One time I even went to a session with Dr Williams and I didn't bitch about anything cause my life for once had been perfect we talked about how Trump was going to be the end of America the whole forty five minutes instead.