My time of hell
I got home from school and walked to my room. Little did I know that this was how my time of hell would start and on this very day. I put my bag next to my bed and put my keys on the window sill. I was feeling quite happy because it was my birthday next week but that was all about to change.
I turned on the television and remember watching “the weakest link”. I lay there shouting out the answers, just like any other day. Then I heard the door slam and my dad enter. This was very odd because he was never here this early. Something was not right. Nevertheless, I carried on watching the television and did not get up. A few minutes passed and then my dad walked in. I immediately knew something was amiss. He sat down next to me and watched TV. This was unusual because he had never watched TV in my room before because he had the widescreen downstairs.
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I knew there was something he needed to tell me but did not know how to because he could not concentrate on the TV. He kept twitching and looking around. This thought made me worried because it made me think I was in trouble. Ideas began to race through my mind about what he wanted to tell me but then ideas were pushed aside when he turned to me and said, “Your mother and I are getting a divorce!” I sat there dumbstruck and open-mouthed trying to work out what these words meant whilst my dad carried on talking about the details. I was too shocked to recognize any of the sounds coming out of his mouth as words. Then I heard the words, “well at least we can see each other every second weekend.” This shocked me again and I stared out the window at a bird playing on the roof.
It looked at me and dropped its head as if it too was sad at what I had heard and knew what was going on. I would only get to see my dad once every two weeks. A tear ran down my cheek as he stopped talking and I saw sadness in his eyes. I gave him a hug of mixed feelings; love, questioning and wonder. I had so many questions in my mind as he left my room but they were not answered. That night I cried myself to sleep for the first time but not the last.
The next day I got home from school early but was not happy, as most eleven year olds should be. This was because I had been brought home by my very angry mother after having been suspended. My face was very dry because I had cried so much. Infact there were no more tears in my eyes, like a dried up river. My parents were ignoring me, as well as each other, so I walked into my room. I was very bored and knew I would have to do something to keep my mind off the terrible time I was going through.
I began to revise for my end of year exams. I could not concentrate on my work and began thinking about life and questioning it because of the situation at the present time. What was the meaning of life? If it was so important then why was it so short? This made me feel worse because I realised that life had no meaning. My friend Kasia had said that cutting herself had always helped her depression. She also said that alcohol and cigarettes had helped.
I walked over to my old saxophone case where I kept alcohol that I had stolen from my parents. I took out a bottle of gin and downed it all. I then took my knife, which I had got for camping, from under my bed. I let a tear run down my face just as the ideas and feelings of depression ran through my mind. I took my first and deepest cut near the wrist. I relaxed, turned over and fell asleep. I had missed the vein.
Through the next two weeks my depression grew as well as my anger about the life I led and the existence of the people of this earth. I questioned the point of things more and always asked “why?” and “what is the point?” I sat in my bathroom two weeks later and suicidal.
I had my knife, alcohol, pen, paper and ibuprofen pills. This existence was pointless. I was not happy. I had no girlfriend, my parents were getting a divorce, I had got suspended and my friends were depressed and lots of problems. “What’s the point of this awful life?” I repeatedly asked myself, “this existence we lead is so short and worth less. Everyone’s a judge, judging u before they even know you. There are so many rules that are pointless because life’s so short. Why restrict ourselves when we have so little time? Everyone’s a liar.” I said to myself. I began to write my suicide note whilst drinking the vodka. It read:
” To whomever it concerns:
I’m sorry but I’m sick of it all.
I don’t mean to hurt you. I just don’t want to live anymore. I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I hurt you and for being annoying at times. I’m sorry to my family and friends.
I am sick of life. The pressure to do well in exams or to do something “great” with your life is unbearable. The lies, pointlessness and stress of it all are too. Too many rules and work. Everyone has problems and everyone’s fucked up. The things that kept me going were my family and friends but even more so, were my music. I would die for a single song. It infatuates me.
To my family: I’m sorry for disappointing you. I have empathy got you and I AM SORRY. We have had our problems, I know, but we’ve always been good together. The divorce is not helping. Steve, please do something with your life. Keep drawing and dreaming. Mum and dad, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to grieve. I want you to be happy. Celebrate my life, don’t grieve my death and respect me. Please, I love you two. Thanks for encouraging me.
To my friends: you helped me through all my problems…thanks! As one of you said, “to die would be a great adventure!” Guys don’t be stupid. Don’t waste life. Do something. Have fun.
I have empathy for you all and I’m sorry.
I sign off like Kurt Cobain:
“It’s better to burn out then to fade away
I’ll be at you altar
Peace, love, empathy.”
I felt bad because the note had tears on it because I wanted my family to think I died happy and not crying. I felt too much empathy for them and knew what they would have to go through after I did this deed.
My mum was in bed so I though now was the time. I took the pills and put the knife up to the vein. “Now or never.” I closed my eyes and said good bye to this world and hoped the next one would be better. The pain rushed in followed by the relief. All was gone.
I woke up after having passed out in the bathroom. I got up and the carpet was stained with a small blood stain and the heavy smell of vodka. I got up and looked at my wrist. I had missed the vein that was vital and only hit a minor one. However this did not sadden me as much as I would have expected because there was a slight sigh of relief, however not for the fact that I was alive but for the fact that my family would have been so hurt.
I could not bear knowing that I would have made my family feel really bad. This made me feel bad and where I had once felt depression for myself, I now felt it for others. Whilst I was thinking of their feelings I suddenly realised how my mum would feel if she found out about this whole situation. I cleaned up the mess and went to bed. It was very early morning and mum was not up yet. She would never know about this which made me happy.
Now I sit, three years on, in my room, no longer depressed. I have got rid of the feelings of depression thanks to my friends and family. I just moved on but there is still a dark part of me inside. I look at the note that I had written in the bathroom, that awful day. I throw it away and look at my wrist and the taunting marks of that horrific past I could and would not forget.