I hang over a cliff, fingers digging into soft dirt. Do I claw my way back to the top, or take a last breath and let go?
My parents won't leave me alone. I need space. Room to breathe. A chance to live outside the pressure and criticism. To experience life beyond their vision. They call me self-involved and irresponsible. I don't believe those are mom's words. She often echoes father and brother (even grandfather, though he died so long ago). Still, it rips me to pieces. Again. Strange...I'm insignificant, yet I shrink further.
Energy wanes. 22 and I have nothing left. I cannot claw anymore. Sleep is a tangle of nightmares but I don't want to wake. I take showers in the dark. The inside is empty; the husk still feels. Curled into a ball, I revel in the hot water cascading over my skin. And I accept the truth.
My existence is inconvenient. Cumbersome. A burden to everyone I love. I am so flawed and broken, pretending to be a good person. There is no light inside, nothing to share to make this world a better place. I'm so stupid, I can't even follow the simplest instruction.
Just get over it.
Stop bothering others will irrelevant problems. Not their fault I'm weak. That I can't leave it behind and get on with life. I will not weigh others down anymore.
The greatest gift I can give is suicide.
My heart sings. One last breath. Time to save everyone from the black hole of my pain and selfishness. Let go. Relief. RELIEF. Finally.
I walk across the living room, a bounce in my step. Husband watches a movie with our roommate. He laughs. The sound hits hard. He is happy, his smile so bright my heart glows.
His joy will wither if I kill myself.
My legs wobble. I thump to the floor and husband rushes to help. I can't move. He and roommate take my hands.
"I'm not doing so well, guys."