A Hole in the Heart

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
An account of a suicidal young man. In some ways, I see it as sort of my temporary autobiography. I was feeling a lot like this young man for a while...

Submitted: January 01, 2012

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Submitted: January 01, 2012

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Ironically, the day was bright, sunny, and fairly warm; a typical July afternoon. Everyone was outside having fun; swimming, playing ball, laughing with friends and family, it seemed so beautiful. It really made me sick to think about that stuff, and how I wanted it so bad. From time to time, I could feel my pulse getting faster and faster, and me hyperventilating as I thought about her and how I wanted her, how I needed her, and yet she would never be there for me.

The way she betrayed me felt like I took the knife I was holding in my hand and thrust it into my back. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and so I always felt so hurt. I tried so hard to forgive her for cheating on me the first time. She promised me she wouldn’t do it again. She told me how stupid she was and how she loved me so much. I felt so free and relaxed when she told me all of this. I didn’t think she could mentally, not to mention physically, hurt me as much as she did. I started to feel incredibly claustrophobic. It was funny because I never really feared anything in my life, and now I feared life itself.

I gripped the kitchen knife that I held in my hand. My hands were sweating like mad! I would try to firmly grip the handle, but it would simply slip out of my hand from the sweat. I was constantly wiping my hands on my pants. Sweat was also pouring from my head, and my hair started to stick to it and cool my forehead. The feeling in my head and in my heart was unexplainable. I felt both hot and cold; both happy and sad; neither at peace or war with myself. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. As I wrote my letter of resignation to the world, all I could think about was her, and so consequently, I felt ashamed at my poor writing ability. I thought about what she might have done with him. Did she kiss him? Did she sleep with him? The thought were unbearable. How did I get here? When did I become so suicidal? It did not matter to me.

Since I was with her, she was the single most important thing in my life, and so, since she is gone, my life is over. I would constantly check my phone to see if she texted me. She never did. I thought she simply didn’t care; that I meant nothing to her. My neck started to hurt like hell. My pulse felt as if someone was punching at my jugular from the inside. I tried to sit down. I was shaking, I started to get the chills, and my eyes began to tear. I had to do it soon, or else I would feel greater pain than that of the knife. Now how I felt how those brilliant minds felt. I know knew how people like John Lennon and Edgar Allen Poe felt; so lost and miserable with their lives. I gripped the knife again. My hands were still soaked in sweat as I looked at the shiny blade; glimmering from the sunlight that cracked through the shutters. I didn’t think about how bad the pain would feel. I didn’t think I could feel any worse pain than I felt now.

I thought she was just a stupid bitch anyways. I thought I loved her, and I promised her everything in the world, and she still hurt me the way she did. I didn’t tell anyone about how I felt, not even her. I felt the next wave of anxiety coming up. I started to hyperventilate. My hands were shaking as though I was having a seizure, and I dropped the knife. I was going to wait until this wave passed, and then I would end it. I felt like God was punishing we one last time before my death. When it finally passed, I quickly snatched the knife up from the floor. With two hands, I held the knife outward, with the blade pointed at my chest. I tried hard not to think about anything else except the eternal bliss that followed the pain. I finally took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and thrust inward.

On impact, I felt no pain. I simply felt the knife go in as the blade slid past one of my ribs, and the warm feeling of the dark red liquid all over my hands, my shirt, and my pants. I took the blade out, and with a shaky grip, thrust it inward again. This time I could feel the horrible pain. The blade slid past another rib, and I felt the pain as the blade entered into my heart. Blood squirted from my wounds. My eyes were wide open and I gasped continuously for air. I could feel warmth rising up my neck. I started to gag and there I saw what seemed like literal tons of gallons of blood pour out of my mouth. I thought the pain would stop, but as I started to get incredibly sleepy, it did not stop. I could not hear, taste, or smell anything. The only thing I felt was the incredible pain.

I was surprised that I managed to stay seated as all of this happened. I started to feel that all I wanted to do was sleep. My eyes were overwhelmingly heavy and I felt incredibly weak. My last and final thought was not about my hate for the world and how it tormented me, but of love. I felt at peace in my mind. I could very well see the blood that was pouring out of my body, but ironically, I felt that all was fine. I thought about my love for the world, and my love for her. All I thought about was peace and love. I, for the first time in so long, felt happiness.

As my breathing slowed and my eyes started to close, I thought about how happy I was. I felt like all the love in the world was thrust upon me. I did not know where I went after I died, or where I am now, but in my death, I found my liberation. I do not know how people reacted to my death, but I do hope that they did not feel sadness. I have often heard the saying, “Death is Free, Life is Not”. I think it is a very curious thing to say, because I am the satisfied customer that wanted a refund.

THE END


© Copyright 2017 Gabriel Benitez. All rights reserved.

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