unable to commit suicide

She wanted to scream, so loud and long. She couldn’t though; her blurry eyes looked to her right, her sister sleeping silently. The last thing she needed was to wake her. She wished she could scream, so loud and long that her lungs would cave in but she couldn’t. She never would be allowed. She was calmer now. Her back was leaning against the faded purple walls of the dark room. The only light came from the stairs, which would guide them down stairs if they needed to, other then that the room was almost pitch-black. Occasionally a car would come down the mostly quiet dead end street and shin right into the bedroom windows.

 

She didn’t care. Her eyes were stuck on the opposite wall. She couldn’t make anything out, from the darkness and her tear-filled eyes. Still it was her room. She knew exactly what she was looking at, shelves of glass dolls and her sister’s dresses.

 

What did it matter? Her anger and frustration making her want to throw something but she kept herself in that one place. She had been crying so heavy earlier, the only way to stop her cries from waking up the house of five, including herself; was to bury her head into her feather-filled pillow, using her hands and knees to block as much of the force as she rocked back and forth.

 

She hated herself but no one else knew it. What was the point of anyone else knowing… everyone had tried to help her? They can’t. It was obvious that she was a lost cause. Yet they keep coming, one after another, falling for her as if she was an angel and innocent. It’s not true. She was no one, why would they want to help no one? She tried to warn all of them but no matter what they stay. Why do they have to help the down, and the incapable? Why must they fall for the saddened face from a girl who had spent most of her days feeling like she was in hell.

 

Then once she opened her blurry eyes and noticed she was in heaven, she still cried. After all, if she was in heaven all this time. Then it makes her selfish, selfish because she was in a place people dreamed of. Wasn’t she? She had a home, a good family, a decent life. Yet here she is crying… making everyone around her feel that they need to help her. It is their right to help her.

 

She never asked for the help, she never wanted the help. In fact, she never wanted anything at all. She knew what she deserved. So now, she sits there, literally crying for nothing, because she didn’t deserve anything.

 

Why didn’t she deserve anything? That was something only she knew. She never asked for the help, or the love, she never wanted the affection and the compassion, did she want to be alone… no.

 

Even so, she learned. Certain people try to help but after so long, they give up. They get mean, they start telling her what she wants to hear and they leave, forever. Usually just leaving her with the words, she had been calling herself repeatedly in her head - the b***h, the w***e, the s**t, and the scum of the earth, the most, ugly, stupid and most of all foolish.

 

She had no reason to be sitting here staring at a wall, god knows so many have wanted to hold her, rock her in their arms and tell her everything was all right but no. She didn’t want to hear it. Nothing would be all right. She couldn’t even end her miserable life.

 

The only people who didn’t know, the only people who never even seemed to care, where those in which she needed. Her parents would never know. After all, she only cried at night, when she was alone, why else would someone stay up so late. There was only one other reason why anyone would want to be alone for a few hours, she used to do that too… Still what was the point? She was the w***e after all; she could do what she wanted.

 

She regrets everything in the end anyway. She sits on her bed now, her eyes trying not to blink so the hot salty tears wouldn’t come down her face, yet they were so strong they flowed down anyway. Then she have to blink and like a river with newly fell rain, they would flow, down her cheeks to her chin, some would drip from her chin to her stomach, or her lap. Others would make their way down her chin and under her shirt; usually her bra would soak them up, though that didn’t matter to her.

 

She sat there with her face sticky her eyes still stuck to that wall. Her mind regretting everything she done, everything she should have done. Was she stupid? She knew she was. Who cries about the past? How many girls would love to have guys wanting to hold them, love them. She never understood; even now, as she cries she wanders. “Why do they like me? Why waste their lives trying to help me. I’m a screw up, a mess, a good for nothing, a wreck.”

 

Even now, after everything, she can’t do what she wishes to do. She hated all the emos at school, walking around with their cuts of hearts and little notes, like tattoos, just to stain the skin. She hated it. She took a needle to her skin, only one, and she never will again. What was it good for, as if she needed more pain? Why hold that symbol of scars showing your insane or indifferent. She didn’t want them to know, what good was it doing?

 

She didn’t need more pity she hated it. She rather they treat her she knew she should have been all her life. That wouldn’t do it. Her breaths now short and quick, another panic attack. Even as she curled on her bed, her knees to her hurting stomach her hands pulling at her hair and rubbing her eyes. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t kill herself… She has thought of it so many times but it didn’t matter.

 

Like every other night, she laid there rocking until she fell asleep just dreaming. This was just another night, from another day of pretending everything was all right. No matter how much she cries, no mater how much she it told… life will never be all right. That is why no one needs to know, about how she feels at any given time.

Author's Note

I write like
Chuck Palahniuk

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Reviews

[K. D. Kromminga]

I detect enough emotion in this that it seems almost autobiographical in nature. Still you seem to want to keep us outside of the mind of your character, not wanting to share her inner thoughts, but rather exposing those inner thoughts in the narration instead. Not only would internal dialogue add to the reader's closeness to your character but it would break up and add a little style and variation to your story here that would only make it more compelling. A real story must always have 4 parts, dialogue, exposition, description, and action, and they are important each and every one in the crafting of your store. Plus internal dialogue here can only add to the feelings of aloneness and alienation that you seem to want to show in this piece.

[Shawn Killian]

I've been here before. I respect the fact that you can write about this. i love it.

[Jonathan De Elvira]

wow!!...good one...
But I'll tell ya, killing one self wasn't a small deal, it's a big deal, it involves many negative feelings of course and the strongest negative feelings during suicide attempt is fear....I knew all about it, 7 times attempts...o.O...This was great..

[Rory CJ Frankson]

Great stuff you there!

[Then she have to blink and like a river with newly fell rain]... really like this line Ash. This very good and the bleak aspect of this type of depression is very well represented in its heavy atmosphere. The progression from that line carries the reader into the metaphor and I thought it was extremely well written.

[though that didn’t matter to her.] Perfect, this sums it up hey! [their cuts of hearts and little notes, like tattoos,] really pretty cool comparatives in observation. Ro...

[Kyle]

I really liked this. Very emotional and something many can relate to. I've written many stories with "suicide" as a theme and my family thinks I have issues. Glad to see I'm not the only one writing those kind of stories. As for your grammer, those dont bother me one bit. You have a lot of talent so do not let those who bash you get you down.

[r]

Wow. This is emotional and really gripping. Very nice work. And the grammar problems don't bug me.

[Matthew Ian Herrawood W]

Very powerful piece nice job

[Joshua Donahue]

very emotional and gripping and so enticing. i enjoyed this!

[Mauricio Montoya]

When it comes to grammar I’m just as bad, keep up the good work as best as you can.
Nice work great job.

[JulieZee]

I try to always have someone else proof my work for me. Sometimes my fingers can't keep up to miy mind and I make a lot of mistakes. I would be happy to help if you ever need a little proof reading. Everyone says to use a word processesor but it doesn't catch a lot.

Anyway, good start here. I really like the emotion portrayed here. I struggle with this everyday. I could definitely relate. I would love to see where you could take this after some editing.