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oo7.
So, it all starts and ends like this. The only noticeable things are colors. There’s a dull gray, yet such a vibrant shine. Metal, it would seem. It has a sharp edge, and my fingers trace the outline of a razor blade. There’s also a soft brown; it must be my carpet. Is that moonlight, or sunlight? It’s tough to tell, because I don’t even know what time it is. There’s another color: blue. That deep, almost indigo blue clouds my head. It also blurs my vision, but maybe that’s only my tears. I reach up to feel my face, but all I feel is my warm, smooth skin, and not a teardrop anywhere.
I think back a year, when I didn’t have a boyfriend. There was always a light gray color that swirled through my head. Gray, as in neutral. Neutral, as in nothing. Now I don’t have a boyfriend, and I ask myself, When did the gray become so blue, so deep? Blue, like the ocean. Such a pretty, light color on top, but travel to the depths and find such a profound blue color. I let my mind wander through the blue, but in the blink of an eye, it turns red. As my mind goes red, I wonder, Why the red? Why the fury, the anger, the frustration? I turn to my option to rid my mind of this terrible back and forth of red and blue. Why did I ever think this was an easy way out?
My mind has put me in such a low mood, and now all I can think about are single words. The first, and most crucial word that comes to mind is failure. No matter how much I try, I can always do better. And since I know I can do better, that makes me a failure. I know I shouldn’t think like that, it’s just the way my mind works. I start thinking about other words, especially the ones he’s said to me. Coward, weak, liar. Maybe I am all those. Maybe that’s all I can be. Is that all he sees me as? I know a breakup shouldn’t hurt this much, should it? My mind has such a dark blue color, almost black, but not quite. If there’s black swirling through my mind, I’m gone forever. I can’t lose the blue and go to black. Not yet.
He told me I needed to change, but apparently I couldn’t do that fast enough. Things always change so easily, so why can’t I? In the past two days, I’ve gone from in a relationship to single. That’s a big change. My life went from fine, to falling apart. This shouldn’t be happening. I’m so sad, and my mind is so blue. The colors are becoming darker. Maybe I’m putting forth too many emotions. Is that a bad thing? Yet, if I try to hide my emotions, he can still realize the truth behind my lies. He’s not even here to see how I’m really feeling, and he’s the only person I need. He’s the only one who cares, and the only one who’s stopped me from ending my life once before.
My vision becomes more focused as the blue cloud leaves my mind. I can now see more colors and shapes. I find a floor length mirror, and study myself in it for a long time. I have such long hair, all different shades of brunette. It’s long and straight, and as I let my eyes travel the length of my hair I wonder, Is it too long? Maybe I find comfort in hiding behind a long layer of hair. My eyes wander to my oval face, covered in freckles. I look deep into my father’s hazel eyes, and down to my mother’s crooked smile. I look down at my bare legs, and wince as my eyes trace the scars that cover my thighs. Scars that I could have avoided. Scars that I’ve put there myself. I quickly look back up into my eyes as the deep blue cloud pushes it’s way back into my mind.
The only thing that I can think about is how he told me I needed to change. I glance down at the metal razor clenched in my hand. I’m trying to change, right? I don’t want to use metal anymore; I want to change. My eyes scan the room, and land on a tiny jar filled with chocolate. I only think about how much I needed to change who I was to save my relationship. All of a sudden, I notice one thing that is changing very rapidly: my emotions. The blurry cloud in my head changes from the depressed blue to the angry red in a matter of seconds. What was that loud noise? I blink, and the cloud disappears, and I notice a pile of glass on the floor, right under a dent in the wall. I realize that I’ve thrown the little jar, and I walk over to the pile barefoot.
I close my eyes and lean against the wall, then collapse to the floor. My hand blindly finds a piece of glass. I know I shouldn’t do what I’m about to do, but I need to relieve myself of this pain. I look down to my thigh, covered with miscellaneous scars, each with a different story. My mind goes back to the word change. I’ll show him I can change, and I’ll put some beautiful scars on my wrist. I’ve always been so careful about hiding my scars, but why stop at just cutting? Maybe if I slice deep enough, I can rid my body of all blood, and leave nothing behind.
I look at my wrist, pale skin, covered with freckles. When I was young, I thought I could draw lines from freckle to freckle, and connect the dots. Maybe that’s all I need to do with my piece of glass. Connect the dots. Tears fall from my eyes as my hand starts to shake. The glass is grasped tight between my forefinger and thumb and it’s pressed hard against my skin. I dig hard, and I feel like I can finally control my emotions. I feel so powerful, so weightless. I ask myself, What if I hit bone, wouldn’t that be luscious?
All of a sudden, I realized someone screamed, and I hear heavy knocking. My door is pushed open, and light floods my room. It only takes me a moment to figure out that I’m the one who screamed. I hear a woman’s voice, “Why did you scream, what’s wrong?” My vision is so blurred that I can’t see who’s talking, but I realize it’s my mother. It’s either her, or an angel, about to save me. I want to hear her voice again, but everything is so silent. Finally, I hear the voice again, “Oh, what have you done…” There’s something odd in her voice, and I realize that it’s disappointment.
In a matter of seconds, everything happens at once. I’m pulled to my feet, and my wrist is heavily wrapped in a towel. I can’t see anything due to all the tears now pouring down my cheeks. I want to apologize to my mom, tell her I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I wasn’t perfect, I’m sorry I couldn’t change. I’m sorry I got blood on my carpet. I want to tell her all these things, but the words cannot escape from my clenched lips. I can feel myself losing consciousness, and it almost feels like death. It’s almost a comfort.
I open my eyes wide and see someone. She has a pale little face covered with freckles. My sister stares back at me, scared and confused, and screaming at the top of her lungs. Maybe she just doesn’t understand that dying isn’t something to fear, it’s a comfort. Her worried face is the last thing I see before complete darkness.
I wake moments later. I can only see straight up, and I feel a cool slate under my back. Everything’s so loud, and I hear numerous voices and sirens. I feel sweat dripping down my forehead and ankles where I’m strapped down to this board. My right arm is also tied down, but my left is heavily bandaged. None of this bothers me, because all I can think is, I’m ready to die. It should’ve never came to this. A breakup should never lead to a question of life or death. But, here I am. My cloudy mind swirls to indigo. It’s almost black, almost to the finish line. The one thing that keeps me here is thinking about him. What would he think of me now? Does he even realize that he’s causing me all this pain? Does he even care?
Silent tears run hopelessly down my face as I think about him. He’s happy, and has amazing friends who are there for him. He’s a gorgeous boy, and any girl would be lucky to have him. I hope he never hurts a girl as much as he’s hurt me. He’s driven me to the point where I am willing to take my life from this world. All of a sudden, an icy hand touches my bare shoulder. “Come on, stay with me.” That sentence brought me back to reality. It’s the same voice from the person who pulled me from my room. She wants me to stay with her. She doesn’t want me to die. But is a mother’s love enough? “Don’t leave me.” Tears flood my eyes. He doesn’t love me anymore, but there are other people who do love me. I can’t leave them. It’s not my time. Not yet.
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