Warning: suicide, death

You want to kill yourself.

The loud rush from the water overflowing the tub is lost on you. You do not register the amount of water disappearing down the drain. You do not feel the way you are slumped down on the white bathroom floor, getting drenched from the damned faucet water and your tears.

You cannot breathe, trying to pace yourself, to ground your stupid self to reality so the oxygen will flow through your lungs. But you are a fucking useless tool, that even as normal and automatic as inhaling and exhaling is – you cannot even do it right. A worthless trash drowning in misery.

No one will help you. Who are you kidding – no one wants to help you. They all think you deserve it; you deserve to suffer, to feel this hurt all on your own. 

You think your family cares?

No, they do not.

You think your friends—what friends? You are a joke. You have no friends. Nobody likes you, no one ever will. 

You can die inside the white box you are in, clutching on the edge of the tub, suffocating through tears and hyperventilating like a fish snatched out of water – and they would not care. Would not bat an eye. Would even be happy. And perhaps you are that, a goddamned fish no one wanted. Insignificant. A waste of space.

Your chest hurts, mind getting foggy. Your face starts tingling as well, a different sensation from the unstoppable tears caressing your cheeks. You cannot feel your face now, a sort of numbness blanketing over you and you know what it is. You are having a full blown anxiety attack. 

Although you are certain it is not anxiety this time. Because what are you afraid of? After everything that has been said, you cannot possibly fear not being able to control yourself, not being able to stop the shaking of your hands. You cannot possibly fear the fact that despite minutes of trying to gulp in air, you still have not succeeded. 

You are not afraid of dying. 

You actually want it to come, for death to finally claim you and rid the earth of your existence.

Your head starts to seriously hurt – as painful as the words thrown at you by the people the stories said should love you unconditionally. But you are a fool, a complete utter idiot who believed them.

Your legs give out from carrying your stupid weight. No surprise there, even your own body hates you. You fall onto the floor from your pathetic kneeling position into a more pitiful form. You bang your head on the edge of the tub, your body bent at an awkward angle. 

But it is salvation. 

Yes, it is because the moment your head rolled backwards, your eyes land on the utility shelf and on the razor sitting prettily in the cup. It glints and beckons you, promises you a future of no pain, no suffering. A future of peace. 

You are not afraid of dying and in this very moment, you want to kill yourself. 

Death seems to come really slow, walking at a turtle’s pace and making you hurt more and more. Your lungs seem to cooperate with Death, slowly burning in the middle of your chest from still not allowing you to breath. Your eyes sting as well – the way your soul does.

You hurt all over and if Death refuses to rush to your aid, then you will meet it halfway.

You crawl towards the shelf, eyes on the one goal your mind can handle at this point in time. You would not forgive yourself if even this one thing, you fail executing. The words that your mother hurled at you rings in your head, loud and clear, glaring in neon lights like a warning you should heed. And yes, those words are determination.

They did say to obey your parents all the time, did they not?

You manage to empty out the cup. Your parents’ razors spill out, as well as the box containing the blades you long for. They are shiny, stainless steel that reflect the stark light of the bathroom. The water is still gushing, you are now slumped on the sink.

The first draw stings and you let out a hiss. It stings but it also made you a bit lighter.

Bright red drips down to the polished white marble of the counter and you admire it for a moment. It is beautiful. A sign that finally, fucking finally, you are doing something right. 

You press deeper this time, feeling the small tendons of your wrist snap – seeing the red liquid splatter over the edge of the sink and onto the flooded floor you are standing on. You are mesmerized when the thick color spiraled with the water, diluting it, turning it into light red, and soon enough, as it disappears down the drain – into nothing. 

That is what you want for yourself too. 

You make another swipe, vaguely thinking of the gesture as akin to playing the violin. However, as every drag on the small string instrument emit melody, yours only signify an end to a life that should have never existed in the first place.

You feel life oozing out of you, leaving you freer than ever. Your legs buckle again but this time, as your head slams on the wall again, as you flop on the floor again – it is promising. 

You feel it. Your head is not hurting anymore. Instead, it is getting lighter, weight off of it and off your shoulders. And your damned lungs, they do not burn anymore. More like, they stopped trying to oppose you, and you cannot feel any more satisfied. 

You admire the marks you made on your wrist, the open wound representing peace and serenity. 

You think – why have you waited this long to do this, when you could have done it a lot sooner and saved everyone around you from tolerating your goddamned existence. 

Saved yourself from the horror that is your existence.

Death is finally in front of you, arm spread wide and welcoming you for a hug. You cannot remember the last time you have been hugged. It is truly tragic – the way you tried to please others, the way you did your best.

You suddenly feel sorry for yourself.

You step in the embrace of Death, and it is warm. Warmer than anyone has ever made you feel. You find peace within its arms, you can finally let go.

You close your eyes and savor the moment, bleeding wrist going around Death and reciprocating the hug. 

Killing yourself is the best fucking thing you did for yourself.