I Wanted to Kill Myself
I want to kill myself, I wrote across a scrap of paper. It was the only thing I could find to write on. It was ripped and a little sticky. My hand was shaking as I scrawled the words. It was the truest statement I’d ever written. The saddest too. I thought I had passed the suicidal stage of my life but it had come back with a vengeance and it wasn’t pretty.
I was laying on the floor of my bedroom because the bed was too comfortable. I didn’t deserve such creature comforts. The floor suited me just fine even though it was covered in clutter and cat fur. I stretched out my limbs and flexed my knees. Nothing was curing the sick, sour lump that had taken up permanent residence in my gut. Every swallow was the extra wet and metallic prevomit saliva. My belly churned.
I sighed heavily, feeling the tightness in my chest temporarily leave. It quickly returned. It felt like someone was stepping on my chest. The weight of the world pushing down on my ribcage. If only it pushed harder. Hard enough to suffocate me with my own misery. It was tragic, really, how shitty I felt about nothing in particular.
As I laid there on the floor, my cat walked up to me and sniffed my face. It was as if to say, hey mom, what are you doing down here. As his sweet snout brushed against my face I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. They were sore and powerful as they skidded down my cheeks. I started coughing, choking and spitting the sadness from deep within me. The guttural sadness was pushing its way fearlessly to the surface. I couldn’t hold it in any more. I wouldn’t. I curled into a ball and rocked as I sobbed out the years of sadness I had kept inside. I cried for the years of pain. Everything I had done my best to hold in for the past few years was kicking and screaming to come out.
I reached out for my cat. My sweet kitten. I wanted to touch his sweet fur, his loving face and his unprejudiced love. The sobs and tears scared my already skiddish kitty back under the bed. A final rejection. Even though it wasn’t a rejection at all. If I took a moment to think outside of my own self-absorbed misery I would have known he was peeking out from under the bed at me, waiting for an all clear to give me head bumps and love. Instead he saw me pull the gun from my bottom dresser drawer and blow my head and all my problems away. All of my suffering became your suffering. You, the next of kin, will have to pick up the fragments of my heart, soul and shattered skull and try to figure out why someone with so much promise couldn’t look past the clouds to see the sunrise on the horizon.