AND IN THE END, I AM NOT OK

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

This book comes from deep down, events in my life that I have now overcome but the memories of the experience are still there. Azaree is a 20 yr old girl still at school due to her having to repeat grades because of the effect of her mental health. She tries to fix things herself as she doesnt want anyone to know. The complicated relationship with her parents and having no friends makes the situation even more difficult to reach out.

DEATH. It sounds scary, doesn’t it? Not getting to hear the welcoming “good morning” from your parents every day, not getting to make last minute unplanned adventures with your closest friends, your pet would be left wondering where you went just patiently waiting for you to come back - only to realise that you won’t be returning home any time soon.

Although for me it grimly seemed like the only way out. The urge to accomplish the entitlement of labelling myself best friends with death himself became irresistibly stronger each and every day. He seems as if he will unquestionably be my only true friend, he can offer me something no one else can; Silence, peace and oblivion. The final escape after all. Falling asleep forever would make the demons go away, they would finally shut up and leave me unbothered. I could at last feel safe again. I struggle to make them go away. I’ve tried so hard to fight so I’ve given up, but I understand Death can help. I won’t have to deal with the agonizing cycle of constant whispers and mocking every night as I make an effort to try and get a decent nights sleep. He seems loyal and trustworthy, that’s all I ask for in a friend. He promises to take my pain away.

“Please make all of the hurt and torment go away Death, please.” I beg as I lay in my cold, dark room with my face squished into my tear-drenched pillow.

I check the time, it’s only 1pm. Unfortunately, time keeps going slower as the days pass by. I impatiently wait for Death but he only visits during the late hours of lonely nights and early hours of despairing mornings. I’ve been awake since yesterday afternoon around 12.18pm and I am yet to get out of bed. I still lay in the same clothes as last Tuesday; My favourite white sweatpants which are now a gross combination of faded yellow and a muddy grey paired with my navy blue, baggy NF t-shirt covered in food stains and smelling like body odour. I haven’t been to school the past two weeks, hence my dull fashion choices.

I hear my parents arguing outside my bedroom door.

“Why aren’t you making her go to school, she needs to learn how to get out of her bed! I just find it ridiculous how you let Azaree act like this, unbelievable honestly. I did not raise my daughter to be this lazy.” My father says bitterly.

My mother replies with a mumble “I don’t know.” Followed by an obvious sigh.

I could tell she just didn’t know how to treat me or talk to me anymore. She’s given up on her only child. It was suddenly quiet. Quiet is what I crave most; The silence, the peacefulness, the stillness of the world around me. Even though the house went quiet, my head most certainly was not. It was loud with scary thoughts racing around. My fathers voice played over and over again. “I did not raise my daughter to be this lazy.” I felt my heart patently begin to sink. Those words fell brutally onto my already shattered heart, especially when they came from my own blood. If only he knew, I always think about telling him every day, but I can never bring myself to tell him. I’m like the cowardly lion from the wizard of Oz – I can’t build up the courage to express my struggles. I know that if I tell him, he will feel as though he failed as a father - considering my parents were even lucky to have a child in the first place. He’d blame himself even though I’m the only one to blame here.. right?

Why can’t I be normal? Why can’t I be happy? Why do I deserve the depression and the anxiety? Why me?

I have questioned this every day for the past 2 years, yet I still haven’t come across a justified answer. What is there to live for if all I do is lay in my bed? Beds were invented for the sole purpose of sleeping; however I spend my days and nights in bed without being able to achieve the end goal. Sleep. I don’t socialize, I don’t eat, I don’t exercise and I definitely don’t get enough sunlight – Maybe I’m a vampire? My true destiny.

My only hobby to pass time is drawing. I used to love creating abstract pieces with only a piece of blank paper and my Crayola colouring pencils, but I have lost all my true meaning and passion for it. I look over to the barely finished drawings scattered across my messy desk. I can’t bring myself to finish them. I can’t see the point in finishing my stereotypical abstract art if I’m producing a new, distinct type of art on myself instead.. (But not in a good way.) These days I draw with silver and it turns out red. I’ll let you take a guess on how that one works – P.S: You didn’t need to do art in school.

How haven’t my parents noticed? The long sleeves and jumpers on hot summer days, the broken razors in the bathroom, the missing band-aids from the medicine cabinet. Surely they’d start to get suspicious by now.. right? WRONG. It’s like im not even there, like they forget I even exist until it comes to the “importance” of school. I just can’t mentally or physically go to school like this. I haven’t showered, brushed my teeth or even washed my hair in weeks. I can barely even find the motivation to get out of bed to use the bathroom. I know that I need to take care of myself, but I just can’t – I would try to explain it but my own thoughts don’t make sense. Every time I try to explain myself, the words just spill out everywhere kind of like a puzzle. Hoping to be picked up, figured out and put back together again.

Sometimes it feels like I can’t move, a heavy weight holding me down, like I’m paralyzed from the neck down. It’s almost as if there’s a shadow standing over me… maybe its Death, getting me used to the feeling of nothingness. He’s going to help me soon he promises, He says he’ll take me somewhere I won’t be found. Somewhere I can be free of the demons. I won’t be disrupted anymore. I lay in my bed every day waiting for Death to take me, but I guess the time hasn’t been right yet. I trust Death to make me feel this way, comfortable and secure in his world.

“Scissors are used for cutting paper.”

The words my grade one teacher used to say during craft time now echo through my mind fourteen years later. As I look down at my left arm, I pull up my sleeve to reveal my most recent artwork. The only drawing I have the energy to continue. Sometimes I just like to sit in silence and stare at my arm – thinking about nothing. It’s like attending a museum and stopping to admire that one piece that catches your attention. The reds, the purples, the browns: A satisfying colour combination. I like to think of myself as an artist – only using a different kind of canvas.


Submitted: April 26, 2022

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