Marked Anonymous

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
For animeprincess417's Writing is our Life Contest

Submitted: July 09, 2010

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 09, 2010



It was an act executed by passion and bought on because of a desire.

When I read the words ‘love’, ‘desire’, ‘passion’ and ‘blood’ there was only one moment in life that my mind traced back to. Perhaps not my only moment in life that could interlace with those exact words but perhaps my strongest memory that forced itself to the forefront of my mind when I read the words stated above. I’ve never told this story. In a way, it is a like a fairy tale that got burnt before it was sent to the press. But here it is, completely revived. Even though the pages might be a little charred, I hope the line where they say ‘happily ever after’ made it through.


We were all sitting in the waiting room staring at the thick double glass doors while screaming babies and complaining children echoed in the room around us. I doubted that we were all thinking the same thing and I furthermore doubted that anyone really cared about the noise around us. I know personally, I was just trying to concentrate on trying to keep my legs from shaking at the same time as holding back all my tears. I hated to cry in public, I hated to cry period. It’s still the same to this day; it just makes me feel weak and pathetic. But I guess I was at that hospital because I was weak and pathetic.

‘You couldn’t have waited a few more months until you were eighteen,’ Carla tried to offer joke as she looked around at all the families with their children. No one was dressed well; it was past midnight and when you’re in the emergency room you don’t really think through the outfit you’re going to be wearing. I mean fuck, I was wearing a pair of old track pants that had holes at the knees and a hoodie over one of my mum’s old Star Trek shirts that was covered in hair dye stains.  

‘If you had waited until December,’ Carla continued, ‘we could have been in the adult’s wing, hey?’

I shrugged. I wasn’t in the mood for jokes and I certainly wasn’t in the mood for conversation. I knew she was only trying to make everything seem less awkward but I don’t know how a situation like that is supposed to not be awkward! ‘I guess.’ I spoke softly and the vibration of my voice sent waves up to my eyes, allowing a few tears to fall down my cheeks.

Alice stayed silent while she just stared at the tears rolling freely down my cheeks. She hadn’t said much all night. I didn’t expect her to say anything though. I mean, how can you really expect a seventeen-year-old to know all the right things to say when her best friend just blurts out that she tried to kill herself?

I wiped the tears quickly from my eyes as a nurse pushed through the big glass doors and walked with a quick pace into the waiting room. She looked around until her eyes fell on me, ‘are you Emma?’ She asked with a snappy voice. I nodded and she spun around, ‘follow me.’

I stood up and suddenly felt all eyes on me. I had been pushed forward in the cue and I had only been at the hospital for ten minutes. All the parents with their children snorted as though I had been unfairly let ahead. I just wanted to turn and scream at them, ‘you’re five year old probably has a God damn tooth ache. I’m not a fucking doctor and I can tell you that! Oh and the baby is screaming because, well, they’re a baby!’ Unlike their children, I had an honest to God reason to be in that emergency room. Fuck, only four hours before we went to the hospital I had been peeling myself out of bed with the intention to force myself to go bowling.

Alice had called and asked if I was feeling better. I had been at home all day and taken the day off school. We were supposed to go bowling that night. I remember that much. I also remember when she said, ‘Emma, you never let illness stop you from going out with friends. You can’t be that sick.’

I wasn’t that sick. I wasn’t sick at all. At least, not physically. I mean I had sat up all night and day vomiting non-stop but that was self inflicted. I remember it was a Thursday when I did it but it was a Friday when we went to the hospital. It’s so weird that I can’t remember the actual date though. I remember the actual date for things in my life that seem so trivial but as hard as I try I can’t remember the date. I can’t even remember the month. Maybe it was May.

Before I went with the nurse I turned back to Carla and handed her my mobile. ‘If I’m gone longer than ten minutes can you call my mum?’

She took my phone and nodded, ‘what am I supposed to say?’

I thought a moment and tried to picture Carla on the phone to my mum. I don’t think they had ever really spoken. Alice and I my mum had spoken a million times but she had kept her lips pressed so tightly together since she arrived at my house that I was worried she might not ever speak to me again.

‘Just tell her,’ I paused, ‘that I’ve been taken to get my stomach pumped.’ A few of the parents in the room looked at me with a stunned look. I tried to shrug of the dirty way they made me feel. Glancing at Alice I saw her staring at me with a creased brow. It was an odd kind of look and I didn’t know how to read it. She was either worried or mad. I didn’t care if she was mad at me though, at least she was there.

‘Emma,’ The nurse called for me again and I turned to follow her as she led me through the glass doors and down a long corridor before we stopped at a little room. ‘Just in here, your doctor will be with you in a minute.’ She helped me onto a small bed before leaving the room. I felt so awkward in the room; it was tiny and smelt so clean that it was almost toxic. I could still hear the babies crying faintly from the waiting room and I wondered if Carla and Alice would say anything to one another while I was gone.

On the car ride to the hospital no one really said anything. What was anyone supposed to say? I had tried to kill myself and then when I failed I tried to just ignore it as though it were nothing. I remember when I told Alice she was silent for so long.

‘I’m not sick,’ I told her on the phone before tears started to spurt from my eyes. My voice was all choked up and scratchy. ‘I’m not sick. I took panadols last night.’

‘Okay.’ She laughed a little as though my crying was over dramatic. ‘I take panadol too when I’m sick

‘No, Alice.’ You know when you cry so much that your nose starts to snot and then you try speak with your mouth shut just so you won’t get snot in your mouth? Well that’s what I was doing. ‘I took panadols and I took a lot of them.’

Either my crying frightened her into believing it was something really serious or she caught on right away because instantly her voice dropped and I could tell she was worried. ‘How many?’

I was silent for a moment and then shut my eyes tightly together. The darkness consumed me and actually relaxed me a little. I breathed in and out a few times and tried to stop crying before I answered. ‘I don’t know. I took two packets of panadol and half a packet of pain killers and a couple ibuprofen. So maybe fifty or more.’

‘Shit.’ She spoke so quietly that I wasn’t sure if she had really said anything. I mean, Alice was never one to swear so she couldn’t have actually said shit. But I had just confessed to trying to top myself so if any, I think that gave her pretty good reason to swear. ‘I have to call Carla.’

‘No, don’t!’ I exclaimed. ‘Please don’t tell anyone.’

‘Emma, I don’t know what to do and I don’t want to ask my mum! Carla is good at science and stuff, she’ll probably know better than me.’

By this point I didn’t give a shit if the snot got into my mouth anymore. Snot and tears leaked into my mouth while I hyperventilated. Alice hanged up and I listened to the dial tone of the phone for a few minutes before actually hanging the phone up. Carla was at my house within ten minutes. We didn’t say much while we waited for Alice to get there. They both looked scared and kept exchanging worried glances.

‘You know you might have to get your stomach pumped.’ Carla told me before we got in her car.

I nodded, ‘I know.’ I didn’t want to get my stomach pumped though. Hell no! Have you ever seen people get their stomach pumped in movies? It’s so messed up! I’m usually fine with pain but the thought of a long rubber tube being forced down my throat and into my stomach frightens the hell out of me.

I had to swallow whatever was left of my dignity and pride and ask the nurse when she returned if I would get my stomach pumped. ‘Do you think they’ll have to pump my stomach?’ I asked as my body convulsed a little with the thought.

She barely looked at my face when she spoke to me. Keeping her eyes on her work she thought a moment and then answered. ‘Have you vomited much?’ I nodded, ‘Maybe you vomited all the aspirin out of your body before it got into your blood. We’ll have to do a blood test before we know though.’ She asked me to take off my hoodie before she strapped something around my arm, ‘this might pinch a little.’ It did pinch. I don’t know what it was called but it was one of those things that takes your blood pressure. I had never had that done before so it was weird and I couldn’t help but actually smile a little.

‘Hello Emma!’ The doctor waltzed in with a cheery grin and a note book that more than likely had a million little notes all about me inside it. She was a short asian woman and seemed pretty friendly. I guess as a doctor that is used to dealing with small children for the most part, you have to be pretty fucking cheerful.

The nurse grabbed the note book and scribbled in my blood pressure. They both nodded at the number with satisfaction and once again the nurse scooted out of the room. I can’t remember the doctor’s name. All I know is that she spoke to me for a bit about what was going to happen. She seemed enthusiastic but inside I know she must have been shitting herself. All the doctors in the children’s wing were probably used to small cuts and broken bones. It must have been daunting yet somehow thrilling to get to work with someone who had attempted to kill themself. In the few short hours that I was at that hospital, I was probably the talk of the town. Oh well, at least I gave them some form of entertainment for the evening.

Another nurse came back into the room with a needle. My eyes almost fell out of my head and I thought I was going to vomit again. I’m not scared off much in life but needles scare the hell out of me. Even thinking about them makes me get all jittery. So pretty much, I was shitting myself when I saw that needle.

The doctor laughed a little and told me that it wouldn’t hurt. She even offered for me to hold her hand. I guess this is the part where I tell you I wish that was my mum sitting there with a hand out for offer. I guess this is the part where I explain exactly why it is that I went to drastic lengths. So here is my explanation and I apologise if it is vague. Thinking about it still makes me sad. And it has been over two years.

It was nothing out of the ordinary really, but I just had enough.

I was sitting at the dining table and staring down at the painting I had created for my art class. Alice had posed for me; she had let me put freezing cold ice cream on her head while I took photos and waited for it to melt. The concept was about deterioration and how beautiful things can so easily be destroyed.

‘Emma,’ my mum walked into the dining room and looked down at my painting. She sounded like she had something serious to say and I could tell it was something I was not going to like. I could tell from the way she forced a smile and tried to compliment me. ‘That’s nice.’ She pointed at my art and kissed the top of my head before standing up straight.

I nodded slightly and awaited whatever news she was worried about telling me.

‘Listen, your father and I are going away again for a couple weeks.’ She spoke so fast I had to double take and replay what she had just said. It wasn’t anything new to hear my parents were going away. They were always going away. Most of the time they went to places I had never heard of or cities I couldn’t pronounce the name of. ‘We’ll leave you two hundred dollars for food and such.’ She licked her lips and widened her eyes while she waited for me to respond.

I was silent for a moment and then looked down at my painting. ‘When?’ I asked in a sharp voice.

Looking up at her, I saw her press her lips hard together in a straight line. She was nervous about answering me and she didn’t even try to hide that fact. ‘Tomorrow.’

My heart dropped. I should have been thankful that at least she told me they were going before they left. I was used to waking up and finding money on the kitchen counter and a note saying something like, ‘gone for a couple weeks. Love you.’

‘Okay, well do you think we could watch a movie or something tonight?’ I asked her with pleading eyes. She just looked away as though looking at my sad eyes were too painful for her to look at. ‘Please. Just you and me. We never get to do anything with just you and me anymore and if you’re going away

‘Your father and I are going out tonight.’ Her eyes danced around the room as though they couldn’t stay still. I knew that she hated telling me those things because she knew how angry it made me.

I shook my head, ‘you’re going away together tomorrow though. Why do you need to go out tonight?’

‘Emma!’ She snapped a little, ‘I am going out tonight. We can watch a movie when I get home.’

‘Home from where though, Mum?’ I stood up and faced her. Her eyes looked at me but I swear they must have looked right through me. If she truly looked at me she would have seen how God damn lonely and depressed I was. I had been cutting myself since I was fourteen and I had told her about it multiple times in some desperate attempt to claim her attention. She never did anything about it though.

She took me to a doctor once. When they asked if I ever had thoughts about suicide I sat silently for a moment. ‘No.’ I finally answered. It was a lie. I thought about suicide a lot growing up. I thought about how I would kill myself constantly. I even drew up a master plan and organised what I would wear and what date I would kill myself. I had planned for it to be April 16th 2008 but instead I went to the movies that day. I guess I forgot.

‘Emma,’ Mum sighed and rubbed her head, ‘don’t start. I’m going out after I straighten my hair. You can buy something for dinner.’ She marched out of the dining room and to her bathroom. I remember falling back into my chair and crying over my painting. Still to this day there are smudges on my painting from where my tears fell.

I went to my mum’s room and yelled and screamed for her to stay. How hard must it have been to stay just one night? I remember I fell to the floor in her bathroom and smashed my wrists against the frame of her shower. It really hurt afterwards but when I was doing it, I just felt numb.

Mum ended up going out with my dad somewhere in town. I was home alone and angry. However, I don’t think there really is any way to justify wanting to kill yourself.

First I went to my bedroom and ran to grab my razor box. I had been stealing razors from my parent’s bathroom since I was fourteen so I had a massive collection. I felt somewhat of a professional. I knew exactly how to cut for maximum blood and I even worked out the technique to use that would make thick white scars. When I was fourteen I thought that cutting myself was really the only answer to any problem. By the time I was seventeen I didn’t cut myself as much but when I did, I cut deep.

I showered before bandaging my arm. It was in the shower that I decided I would kill myself that night. I was irrational and stupid. Still wet, I walked from the bathroom into the kitchen where we kept the panadol and started to down pill after pill. This is the moment I have the hardest time trying to remember. I guess my mind had just blanked that portion of my memory out. I wish the entire night was blanked. Fuck, I wish the entire night never happened.

‘Not that bad, is it?’ The doctor asked as they pulled the needle out of my arm. It wasn’t the pain I hated, it was just the needle. I mean, I really hated and still do hate needles! I had to keep something in my arm while they did the tests and I was told I could bring my friends in to wait with me.

Alice and Carla came in with glum faces. ‘Did they pump your stomach?’ Carla questioned as she gazed around the little room.

I shook my head and lifted my arm, ‘just took blood.’

Alice walked slowly into the room like a ghost drifting over the floor. She looked pale and I feared perhaps she might even vomit and pass out. Taking a seat, Alice kept her eyes on the thing in my arm. Before Carla sat down she declared she had to pee and left the room. Alice and I were on our own and I was sure she wasn’t going to say anything to me, but she surprised me and spoke in a small, scared voice.

‘Why did you do it?’ She asked.

I looked at her and saw that her eyes had drifted down from where they had taken blood and to the cuts on my arms. I had forgotten all about the cuts on my arms and I was sure the doctor and nurse must have seen them too. Having cuts on my arms only embarrassed me when the person looking at them wouldn’t give me their empathy. I guess I was oh-so-cliché when I was younger and cut for attention. I wish I could go back in time and smack myself in the head.

‘I don’t know.’ That was a lie. I knew exactly why I did it; I wanted to kill myself.

‘If you don’t want to get your stomach pumped, you shouldn’t have taken so many panadols. Didn’t you think ahead?’ Alice’s voice wasn’t full of anger or disappointment; it was purely worry and concern. But I did think ahead; I thought I would be dead.

I wish my mum cared enough to have been there. Want to hear something funny? My mum knew. I told her. I told her that I had tried to kill myself and I asked her not to go away on holidays with my dad but she left anyway.

I had called my mum before we went to the hospital and I told her I was scared I might need to get my stomach pumped. Her response was hushed because she didn’t want my dad to over-hear the conversation. ‘We’ll go to the doctors when I get back.’

‘Can’t you come home now?’

‘Now?’ My mum snorted as though the idea was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. ‘How am I supposed to explain wanting to go home early? I can’t just jump on a plane and come to you just because you want to go to the hospital!’ I hanged up on her and I remember that for the entire next year I continuously told her that she wasn’t my mother. I always told her how I respected Alice and Carla as parental figures more than I would ever respect her.

When Carla came back from the toilet she tried to lighten the atmosphere with jokes. But no one wanted to laugh. We were in that tiny room for around three hours before the doctor came back in. She said hello to my friends and joked with them about me being a ‘silly head.’ We all just faked laughs when she said that. Way to make an awkward situation furthermore weird!

Thankfully they told me that when I vomited I must have vomited up all the aspirin before it got to my blood. I didn’t need my stomach pumped and I didn’t need any medication. I was free to go. I was thankful that the worst of it was having to get a needle but when I think back on the night, I think ‘the worst of it was probably the part where I could have been dead right now.’ But you don’t ever want to think about that.

So many people wish themselves dead and so many people cut themselves or do try to kill themselves and it is only after you come back from all that, that you realise how stupid you were. I look at everything that has happened between now and then and I think about how had I of died that night I wouldn’t have been able to experience all the things I have. I would never have laughed again, I would never be able to hold my animals, or eat delicious food and spend time with my friends. I think if I had of died I would have selfishly ruined the lives of all the people close to me. I found out a couple weeks after it had happened that Alice was pissed off at me. She told me that what I had done was selfish and really stupid. I agreed.

I remember just before we left the doctor pulled me aside and gave me a business card for a therapist and she told me that legally she had to make an appointment for me. Then she looked down at my arms and said that if I didn't have cuts all over my wrist then she might actually pretend to believe that I wasn't trying to kill myself. I shamefully took the card and forced a quick thanks before trying to leave. Before I could leave she asked me one more thing and I froze in my steps.

'Why did you want to die, honestly?' I don't know what interest she had in knowing the mental aspect of my physical problem but I tried to answer her as honestly as I could.

‘Love,’ I kept my voice low so that Carla and Alice wouldn’t hear me. ‘I guess.’

Nodding, the doctor pressed her lips together and walked away. She seemed content in my answer as though it told her the entire story. I guess if you put the words ‘love’ and ‘suicide’ together, everyone instantly thinks of some teenage romance gone wrong. Fuck, I know that’s what I used to think of. I always thought that people might want to die after a big break up or because their crush didn’t love them back but really, love means more than something between a boy and a girl or a man and a woman.

Love. It is one simple word but it has so many meanings. In my case it meant the love of a parent or just the love that came from feeling wanted. It isn’t that I never felt unwanted but I just felt lonely and extremely unloved. For years I used to think that my mum didn’t love me. If she loved me she wouldn’t have always picked up and gone on holidays all the time. If my mum loved me she would have got on the first plane home and been with me at the hospital.

But now that I am older I look at the situation and I don’t want to blame my mum. I just want to blame myself because at the end of the day I am all I have and everything was my own fault. It is the same for everyone else in life. You’ve only ever got yourself. You might have a supportive family and great friends but at the end of the day it is only you.

When we got back to my house from the hospital Carla stared at me for a long moment before asking, ‘are you going to be alright?’

I looked at where Alice was on the back seat. She shifted uncomfortably when I looked at her so I immediately took my eyes off her and set them back down on Carla. I nodded quickly and forced a teeth baring smile. ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine.’ I had to force myself to be fine, didn’t I?

Even though I was exhausted, I barely slept that night. I kept looking at the time. It was interesting to watch the time and think to myself ‘I’ve been alive for 32 hours more than I would have, had I of actually overdosed from all those pandols.’ I can’t recall my emotions but I think I just cried.

Most days go by that I don’t even think of that portion of my life. When I talk about getting a tattoo, I look down at my wrists and think I really need something to cover all those scars. I haven’t taken a panadol since that night because the smell and texture of them makes me want to vomit and I think if I do take one I might just vomit. I never went to the therapist. They called and asked why I didn’t show but I just said they must have had the wrong number.

As for my mum, she cried when she got home and clutched so tightly to me that I thought she would never let go. In a way, I didn’t want her to let go. And in a way, she hasn’t let go.

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