Drowning in thin air

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Another short piece on the suicidal thoughts of a youth struggling to survive her own thoughts.

Submitted: July 14, 2017

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Submitted: July 14, 2017

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Drowning in thin air. 

 

Have you ever felt so invisible you find it hard to visualise yourself? You're surrounded by a heap of people, whose faces you are familiar with and of those you are not. 

You're just passing another stranger in a hall full of pride and continuous cheer. Drifting through scenes of common ground just to pass the time you're inevitably forced to spend procrastinating the importance of an education due to expire with lack of effort and care.

And you want to scream at the top of your lungs so loud the squeals of your sentences sharp enough to injure those who hear, but you're breathless before you even pronounce the first word. 

 

A lump in your throat large enough to play field hockey with leaves you stuttering as you begin to feel your chest tighten and the tears well in your eyes. Your body washed over with shame, this can't be happening and definitely not here.

Your legs are weak and your weight feels heavy to carry as you lean against the closest wall to guide you to privacy. And you can feel the piercing of the stares in the back of your head, the burning of all the harsh comments skidding down your back. 

By this time you're in hysterics with tears that heavy your wails for help are drowned out. Your safe place is near and you can feel the success from reaching your destination at your finger tips. 

You take a few more short steps until you are at your safe place, and you are there, finally after all the struggles you settle your screams as they turn to suitably reasonable groans. 

Forging a smile because you are at peace without the tormental laughs of those who fell witness to your ordeals. In a toilet block, locked into your chosen cubicle. Placing your school bag on the floor as you sit on the toilet bowl and plan the last moments of your living life. 

Tugging at the contents of your bag revealing a heavily cut rope, you raise your head to stare at the exposed wooden beams above, taking a pick at which to use you throw the rope over and tie it tightly reassuring yourself that the conclusion will be met with out interruptions. 

Your panting becomes heavy as you stand on the seat of the toilet, hands producing mass amounts of sweat you tell yourself it is the best outcome, the easiest escape from the pain you're living in. 

Gulping now, you place the noose over your head, crying lightly as you count to three, one, two, three, you take the fatal step off the toilet. Hanging from the roof of the location that brought the most horrendous things upon you, your body begins to twitch as you cry your final tear.The smallest one of all, it trickles down your face and ends at your chin as it falls to the ground. 

Your last breath, one of total regret is a small gasp for air that chokes you. Your arms and legs stop the twitching and fall still, instead your life less body sways from side to side until eventually it too ceases. 

You're gone now, there is no hope of ever returning you back to life. There is no note to justify why you've decided this the best option, and no friends to answer questions left to carry themselves to the graves of those who asked them. No void to fill the emptiness you've left behind. 

But it's okay right? Because that's what you wanted. And the desired demands of those who cared meant nothing because you felt you suffered in silence. When I'm reality, everyone suffered with you, in silence also. 

No one knew how to provide help to a loved one who wanted nothing more than to die, to take a life away from those who gifted it. To choose the destiny of those left behind. 

Although they'll cry unrestrained tears for your absence and they'll never apprehend precisely why you're absent they'll always grasp the aspiration to grip you near again and they'll always clasp the promise that you're cradled in the arms of those you rejoin in eternal peace. 

 


© Copyright 2017 Stacy dobson. All rights reserved.

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