Lost control

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A dark story about a teenager who saw his father killed and his means of coping.

Submitted: July 26, 2011

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Submitted: July 26, 2011



I sit on my bed. Bottle of Jack in my right hand. A razor blade in my left. A self help book from my therapist on my nightstand. A suicide note to the left of it. My mom isn't home. It's a perfect night to finally end it. End all the pain. The suffering.

I knew a therapist wouldn't help. I told them to let me go. Told them to leave it alone. They wouldn't listen. They kept pushing and pushing until I couldn't take it anymore.

I take another swig of the bottle. It burns running down my throat but its all I have to numb the pain besides the blade. The more I think the more it hurts. The more it hurts the tighter I grip the blade. At this point I'm dripping with sweat. The idea sounded easy enough. Allot easier to say then do.

I take another swig. My stomach feels on fire. I can't stand life anymore but the thought of suicide seems so radical. Yet it also seems to be the only way to escape. What if I don't die. What if I wake up in the hospital and have to face my family. What if it ends up in the news and I have to face my friends. No be strong.

I take another swig. The bottle is 2/3rds gone. I hold the blade up to my right wrist. It feels cold against my flesh. I gently slide it back and forth curios
as to how it feels. This is how I know I can't do it. I'm still questioning it. If I really wanted to die I would be dead by now. Maybe I just need to close my eyes and end it. I just need to breathe. I set the razor blade on the self help book and walk over to my window. I open it to let in some fresh air and lean my head out of it.

I take another swig of the bottle. It's almost empty. I began weeping uncontrollably. I can't control myself anymore. I lost all the control a long time ago. When I saw it. The calm collected look in his eyes when he shot my dad in that dark alleyway a year ago today. I lost the control when I saw all the blood. When the shooter looked at me, smiled and pointed the gun at me mimicking as if he shot. Then he ran off. He shot my father and ran off just like that. Leaving me terrified. I sat there all night next to his body. Just staring at it. I knew he was dead. A bullet went straight through his forehead. The sight was grotesque but I couldn't look away. I keep seeing the look in the mans eyes as he shot him. So empty and calm as if he felt nothing whatsoever. No compassion. No remorse.

I drank the rest of the bottle. I hung out my window silently for a short period. Thinking through that night. The night I lost my father.
I was enraged at this point. Still sweating profoundly. I pushed off of my window and threw the
bottle of Jack at the wall causing it to shatter. I grabbed the blade off my nightstand and brought it
up to the left side of my throat. Fast and hard a pulled it around to the other side. I looked down to
see my blood had sprayed all over the self help book and a little sprayed on the note. Then it went dark.

Is it selfish to say the last few moments of my life were the best. I had never felt so in control. I chose how it ended. I chose when it ended. I chose it. I chose everything. Nobody altering my choice except me. My death was wanted. It was not untimely. It was not accidental. Face it you saw this coming. You all knew something was wrong. And you kept pushing and pushing and pushing it was to much. You just needed to back off. Give me my space. You didn't. You requested countless times that I should get help. That I should seek help. You know what I said to that. I said no. At my lowest point I even begged. But that didn't mean anything to you. I had no control. But I do now. Now I have all the control. And this time you can't take it away from me. -Love, Kayla.

Thats what the note read. Word for word. Her mother found it blood splattered. Isn't that sweet? Yes Kayla that is selfish. Very selfish. You didn't once stop to think that not only did you lose a father. But your mother lost a husband. Her husband of 7years. The father of her child. Her only child. You were her last connection to him. In times of peril family should stick together not get torn apart. Sometimes I don't understand people. How their minds work. Why they think how they think and act how they act. Whats wrong with people? Whats so fucked up in their heads that they think what they do is justifiable. Instead of spending her time grieving with her mother she spent it getting drunk and contemplating suicide. Instead of honoring his name she took her own life. Out of what? Sorrow, fear, disbelief, anger? She succumbed to her weaker emotions. Became her own bitch if you will. She lied to herself about her lack of control to hide the real reason she took her own life. She was scared. More than that she was angry. She had nobody to take her pent up emotions out on. So she blamed herself. Saddest of all she actually had to lie to herself to go through with it.

When her mother came home the shock almost killed her faster then the ungodly amount of painkillers she swallowed shortly after she found her daughters lifeless body. She was horrified. She was screaming, crying, confused and scared shitless all at the same time. She knew something was wrong with her daughter but she didn't think it was this bad.

To think a little over a year and a week ago this was a happy family. A family that you would see while out with your single mother or father and think "Damn, I wish I had a normal family." Which would compel you later to do drugs and drink with your friends to fill the void you feel you have within yourself. Creating an alcohol or drug dependence. You will then lose your control. Probably feel helpless and cornered. Your families pleas for you to get help will be answered with an ungrateful selfishness. Eventually you'll feel every ones turned on you and you'll probably end it all. But hell thats life. At the most morbid fucked upview of course.

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