“That’s it. If I wake up tonight I am going to kill myself.” I lay in bed waiting to fall asleep while (what I call) disturbing thoughts run through my head. I hate my hair. I hate my body. I hate my clothes. I hate my personality. I hate ME. I need to kill myself. If I wake up tonight, I will not be afraid. I have felt this way for too long and if I’m obsessing about it, it must be meant to happen. I haven’t been saving pills in my closet for nothing. I was always told to do what my heart tells me to, and this is it. I’ve got Aspirin, Advil, and my step-brother’s thyroid medication on the top shelf of my closet, sitting in a lime green shoe box, inside a black and white stripped jewelry box my mom gave me a bracelet in years ago. The pills are waiting for me to give in. I am waiting for me to give in. How much more will it take?
I believe in reincarnation. There is life after death--many lives. If I leave this one, I can start over. I can be happy with myself. So many things have gone wrong, it’s not like I can fix them now. I have betrayed everyone.--My friends, my family, myself. How can I be happy when I know that I have been so bad? We are all put on earth to die, and that is what I plan to do.
I know that if I were to die today I could give my family their lives back. My family is all I have and lately it feels like I don’t even have them anymore. I’m sure they are all tired of dealing with my “I’m so depressed” shit. They don’t know how bad it really is though. Mom thinks it’s for attention, but why would I go to this extreme just to be noticed? I know that lots of people cut themselves to get attention, but not me. I have tried to stop, but it’s not easy. Everyday I struggle to fight off my reoccurring thoughts about suicide. I try reaching out, but it is like I am all alone and no one is there. It is like a baby learning how to walk-She can get up, but taking a step is very difficult, and she ends up back on the ground hundreds of times before she even gets it semi-right. Last time I reached out and was noticed, I was put on Prozac—which is NOT working, and making me feel even more like shit. I do get jealous of my family sometimes though. It’s not hard to be forgotten when you have a lot of smart, and more important people in you life. Everyone thinks it would be so great to have such a big family, but it’s not. Until I was nine it was just Me, Mom, Dad, and my two sisters. Then, Dad moved out and Darel moved in. It was literally like my world had been flipped upside-down. Our families were so different. My two biological sisters and I were brought up the way every child should be. We were taught not to steal, to respect elders, drugs were bad, to wash our hands before we eat, and to always use good manners. This was not the case for Darel’s family. His kids were not brought up the same way. No manners, no respect, nothing. They were the complete opposite. But somehow six years ago my mom managed to fall in love again, with what would seem to be our worst nightmare. Darel has four kids, my mom three. In total I have five sisters ranging from age fifteen to twenty-seven, and a younger brother who is fourteen. For a long time my sisters and I did not get along with Darel’s kids, and we made it really difficult for our parents to hold a relationship. But, in the end we got along and now are one big “Happy” family.
I know that I don’t really want to die, but I also know that I really do want to. I don’t have a bad life; just have done many bad things. That’s why tonight if I wake up I will kill myself. Every night I tell myself that I don’t have to deal with life anymore if I wake up. And, every morning I tell myself that I didn’t wake up the previous night because I am ashamed of my weakness. Almost every night I wake up but just go back to bed. A few times I have gotten out of bed and seriously procrastinated about taking my life, but never close enough to actually going through with it. I think subconsciously my body wakes its self up because it knows I want to die. I say “If I wake up I will do it” because, that way I am not promising myself and I leave it up to chance-whether I wake up or not. I am not scared to do it tonight, because I will probably chicken out, but I am going to try anyways. All I have to do is fall asleep and wait to awake. Then, I can lay awake thinking about killing myself, or even go through with it.
What time is it? I look at my alarm clock. 2:22AM. Middle of the night. I have woken up. It worked. Death is on my side. I sit up and wipe my eyes. I am not scared because this has happened so many times; chances are I won’t go through with it. I dangle my feet over the side of my bed. I will not chicken out. I stand up and look in my full length mirror resting against the wall between my bed and my desk. I try to look at myself but I can’t. I am fat. I am ugly. I am a bad person. I need to die. It hurts too much to look at such a disgrace. I pick up the mirror and turn it around. I face it towards the wall. I’m sure the mirror will crack if I look at it long enough. Very quietly I pick up the brown, wooden stool in front of my cluttered desk and creep towards my small closet. Each step I take hurts like a knife. Tonight I am going to succeed. I stop. I think my mom is coming. Quickly I drop the stool and jump back into bed and put the covers over my head. I lay there for a long time and think the same things I think about every night when I wake up. Why don’t I just do it? What is there to be scared of? This is what I want. DON’T go to sleep. Stay awake and maybe you will succeed. Then I start to think about if I do decide to go through with it. How am I going to succeed? This seemed so much easier before, when I just thought about doing it and no planning was involved. Should I run away? Should I lock myself in my room so no one can stop me? Do I take all the pills? Should I get more? What is the after life like? It is starting to get stuffy in here and I can smell stale air. It is difficult to breath. I lift the covers up and take a gasp of air, then put the covers back over my head. The thoughts keep coming and I can’t stop them. What will my Mom do when I am gone? Will people even care? Will they be glad that I am gone? Maybe I should wait. No. I need to do this. It is my destiny. I pull the covers off my head and look at the clock again. 4:01AM. I have been awake for almost two hours and not done it. I get out of bed. This time I am not going to take my time. I grab my stool from where I dropped it and quickly open my closet door. It squeaks. I hope my mom didn’t hear that because I am not going to stop now. I have never gotten this far before. I am excited. I place the wooden stool in front of me. I step up and grab onto the closet door to keep balance. I reach into the back of my closet. Carefully, I move the boxes that are on top of my “special” box onto the other side of the shelf. I slowly slide the box towards me. I grab it and place it in my left arm. Stepping down from the stool, I drop the box onto the floor. I turn over the mirror and look one more time. This time I stare at myself for a good five seconds. I burst into tears. I can’t do it. I want to so bad but I can’t. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I let go? I need to do what my heart tells me to. I wipe away the tears from my eyes and walk towards my dresser. I open up my underwear drawer and feel around the bottom. I keep moving my arm around till I find it. My only friend. My razor. I pull down my pajama pants and sit down on my stool. I place the blade on my leg. I take a deep breath. Maybe this will help me calm down, and then I will really do it. I dig the blade into the skin a few inches above my knee and I begin to slice. I can feel my skin ripping, then a trickle of warm blood flow down the sides of my leg. I lift the blade and wipe it dry with the sleeve of my old Spice Girls shirt. I place the blade on my leg again. This time I close my eyes and picture all my sorrows bleeding out. It feels as if my legs are trembling but I don’t stop. I dig the blade into my skin as hard as I can. With one hand stretching my skin, and the other slicing I clench my face. I need to bleed to know that I am alive. The pain feels so great. I continue to slice, then wipe with different parts shirt for an hour. My legs are throbbing. I spit onto a clean part of my shirt and clean off the blade. I open my drawer up again and hide the razor in the back of the drawer. I pull my pants up and watch my pajamas turn a deep red. I have failed again. I am a failure. I can’t do anything right. I can’t even end my life right. Nothing I do is ever right, and it never will be. I am a failure. I walk towards the closet and pick up the box. Holding the box close to my heart I close my eyes and pray. I pray to a higher power that somehow I will succeed, and my life will be done. I Grab the box and step up onto the stool one more time. The box goes back in the corner; I cover it up and step down. The stool is put back and it is over. I’ve lost. My plan is destroyed once more. I can still feel the blood trickling down my legs. It feels gross but I like it. It’s 5:37AM now. Mom is going to be up for work soon. I get back into bed and rest my head onto my pillow. I try not to think about what I have done. I close my eyes and pretend I never woke up tonight. I am ashamed.
I am laying in bed reflecting on what happened just a few hours ago. I should be getting ready for school, but I don’t have the willingness to get out of bed. I feel like shit. I am tired of failing at suicide. I don’t want to deal with this pain any longer. Clearly I don’t really want to die. Suicide is just causing more trouble. Maybe it’s time for me to let go of the suicide idea. Last night was the 8th time that I have woken up in the middle of the night and tried to kill myself—THEN FAILED. That’s it. I am going to get up, go to school, and forget that I even woke up last night. Today I am going to start a new life. I am going to stop obsessing about something I don’t have to guts to do. Now sitting up, I rub my eyes and look at the dark make up I have rubbed off on my hands. I scoot down to the end of my bed and wait. Do I really want to go to school? No, but I don’t have a choice. Now hurry up and get out of bed. I place my feet onto the purple carpet and attempt to get out of bed. I stand, but my body crumbles to the ground. I fall to the floor. What just happened? My legs are throbbing and my pants are painted with dried blood. I am not going to cut anymore either. I want to do this on my own. I am going to change. I am no longer depressed. I no longer want to cut. I now love myself. I know it is all bullshit, but I continue to tell myself good things anyways. It’s time for me to get dressed and ready for a new day. Pulling my pants off hurts a lot because the blood from the cuts has dried onto my pants. I can feel my cuts opening as I the scabs rip off with my pants. My legs are covered in smeared blood and are beginning to bleed again. I run down the hall to the washroom and wet a face cloth, then to the medicine cabinet and grab a wad of gauze out of the first aid kit. I sit on the edge of the bathtub and very gently begin to wipe up the mess off my legs. More throbbing. It feels like I am cutting all over again. I love the feeling. I do not regret what I did to myself last night, even though I should. Maybe I don’t want to change. Cutting isn’t that bad. No. I need to be strong. Once I’m all cleaned up I wrap the gauze around both of my entire legs; ankle to thigh. Then, back to my room. My blood-stained bed sheets are covered in new blood. I rip the sheets off my bed and throw them into my laundry hamper. I will wash them when I feel like it, which will probably be in a few days. Until then I will sleep with no sheets. I rarely sleep with sheets anyways; they are always in the wash. I grab a pair of pants and a shirt from a pile of clothes on the ground and put them on. I struggle to put my pants on. It is difficult when I am all bandaged, but I’m used to having to be careful when getting dressed. I brush my teeth; throw my hair up into a pony and leave. I am going to pretend nothing is wrong at school today.
The bus never seems to come on time. Half of the time I end up missing first period because the bus driver can’t tell time. Every time I get on the bus after it is late I just want to scream at the driver. WHY CANT YOU BE ON TIME! IT IS COLD OUT. FUCKIN ASS HOLE. I am so mad inside, but never let it show. Instead, I burry it inside, get upset, and then have experiences like last night. My body is shaking and my teeth are chattering. It is cold and I want to be inside the warm bus. Where is it? I am ready to turn around and walk back home. The bus always seems to be late after I have had a bad night. I hate it. I could probably get to school faster walking. Well, not really. It takes me a twenty minute bus ride just to get to the bus stop I need to get off at. Then, another five minutes to get to the school. Finally! The bus is coming. I am raging again and I want to tell that bus driver what I think of him, but I don’t. I am mad. I get on the bus and don’t even show my bus pass to the driver. I walk straight to the back of the bus, where Cory and Marietta are sitting. I don’t say anything to them, and they don’t say anything to me. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Today is going to be different. I am going to try to understand my math. I am going to do the question sheets in socials. And, I am going to forget about my dream to die.
When I get to school everyone is staring at me. I wonder what they are thinking about me. What ever it is, I know that it is not good. The bell rings and I go to my English class. I walk into the portable and sit at an empty table at the back corner of the class. Katie should be here soon. Even though she is my best friend, I don’t want to talk to her right now. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Katie walks into the class and sits in the desk beside me.
-Hi.
-Hi.
-Had a bad night?
-How did you know?
-Mel, I’m your best friend, I always know.
-Well yes, I did have a bad night, but I don’t want to talk about it.
-You have to tell someone.
-I did. You know that I had a bad night, and that’s all there is to it. I don’t want to talk about it!, Please leave me alone.I don’t want to talk to Katie today, even if she is my best friend. I know that she is trying to help, but I am far beyond help.
-Melanie. You tried again, didn’t you?
-Yes. I did try again. And I got very close. I tried to look at myself in the mirror and I couldn’t. I got so mad and cut my legs again, this time really bad. My entire legs are wrapped in gauze. I don’t expect you to understand. Please just leave me alone for a while. I don’t feel like talking right now
-You need help.
-I am far beyond help. The only person that can help me is me. I am going to help myself. I am not going to try anymore because I am tired of putting myself through this every time I fail.
-I don’t believe that.
-Of course you don’t. You don’t understand because your life is perfect.
-Mel...I cut Katie off.
-Katie, I really don’t want to talk about it right now. I don’t want to fight, I just need my space. I am really upset and just want to be alone. Please respect that.
-Whatever.
Katie walks to the other side of the class and sits by herself. I don’t want to fight with her, but she kept nagging at me. She doesn’t know when to stop. Sometimes talking to her just makes it worse. The class quiets down and Ms. Elke starts to talk. It makes me feel better to watch Ms. Elke because she is very entertaining. She is keeping my mind off what just happened. She goes on how Brutus and Julius Caesar are different. We are supposed to get into pairs and talk about their similarities and differences and put them onto a chart. My only friend is Katie. Is she going to come to me? Should I come to her? Look what I have done. I should have sucked it up and just talked to her. Katie walks over to me and sits down. I think I need to apologize, but so does she. She made me just as mad as I made her.
-Lets just do the assignment
-Katie, I’m sorry for being rude. I just, I want to do this on my own. I really do want to stop and I don’t want help. I know that you are there if I need you, but really, I just want to deal with this on my own right now. Thank you for your concern. You are a very good friend.
-I just want to help you, and you are always pulling away. I worry about you. I am scared that one day I will wake up and not have a best friend.
-I am sorry for making you feel that way. Let’s just forget about it and do the assignment. I will be fine, and if not I will go to you.That was really awkward. I hope no one heard what we talked about. But it’s not like people haven’t seen the marks on my body before in gym class. Class is over. Katie goes to her Home Economics class, and I go to my social studies class. Mr. Sallaway is teaching a new lesson today. I am going to pay attention. Ten minutes goes by and I cannot focus. My vision is starting to go blurry and I just want to sleep. My eyes are beginning to shut on their own.
-Ms. Babic!
Mr. Sallaway yells my name and I wake up. I fell asleep in the wrong class.
Stay after class.
I just nod my head yes. I hate those words, especially coming from him. He always embarrasses me and makes me feel stupid. But it’s true, I am stupid. One time he asked where the Fraser River was and I didn’t know. When he asked a Korean where it was and they knew he had to rub it in.”Ms. Babic! This person is from Korea and they know their Canadian geography better then you! You MEAT HEAD!” were his exact words. I did not find it amusing. But, the whole class thought it was hilarious.
When the bell rings I stay sitting in my chair as the class files out. Mr. Sallaway begins his lecture. “You need to pay attention. You don’t and that is why you’re failing.” Yadda, yadda, yadda, blah, blah, blah. I stare into space. When is he going to SHUT UP?!
-Do you understand?
Yes. I nod my head like I actually give a rat’s ass.
-Well then go on. But DON’T let it happen again. Next time you will be kicked out of the class, and you can be sure to see an F on your report card.
I leave. I didn’t know how much more I could take. I see Katie and tell her what happened. We both laugh because it is so like me. I finish the day at school with ease and head home. On the bus I reflect on my life; the mistakes I have made, the friends I have gained and lost, why I am depressed, why I want to die, what I want to be when I am older.. I stop. What do I want to be when I am older? I have never thought about this before. For as long as I remember I haven’t cared about my future, and now I am thinking about it. Well then, it’s set. I really do want to change my life around. My heart isn’t telling me to kill myself, it is telling me to be strong and love myself. And that is what I am going to do. I am going to try to love myself. I feel better already. Things are starting to look up and I like it. This is a new me. No more cutting, no more wanting to die, no more lying to myself. I am me and I need to like myself for who I am. Wait a minute, who am I? I am Melanie Babic. I have blue eyes, brown hair, and lots of people who love me. I may not be the prettiest, skinniest, smartest, or tallest, but I am me. I am a good person and people like me for who I am so I am going to like me for who I am. I continue to fill my head with good thoughts when I am walking home, when I eat dinner, when I am doing my homework, when I watch TV, when I brush my teeth.. When it comes to time for bed I take a special minute to say goodnight to Mom. I always thought we weren’t close because she didn’t care, but really I wasn’t letting her in.
I love you mom.
I give my mom a hug for the first time in a long time and she hugs me back. I am glad to have her there. I know that good things are coming. I give my mom a kiss and head off to bed, still thinking positively. I continue to think of all the good things in my life, and how happy I am to be alive as I close my eyes and drift away into a deep sleep. I am Melanie Babic. I am no longer ashamed of the things I have done, people I have hurt, people who have hurt me, or what I look like. I love myself.
This is an into to the book I have recently started to write. I know it seems more of a short story but what I plan to do is have the girl relapse and actually go through with her plans. She ends up living and is put in a psyche ward where she learns to love herself. This girl is me. I called this My Weakness, My Strength because once I was weak with suicide, and now it is my strength, and everyday I am helping someone fight off their reoccuring thoughts about death. Hope you liked it!:)
I'm just trying to be realistic.
