Breaking Point

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
I don't want to restrict this, but this could be a little sensitive or insulting, or even graphic for some, so reader discretion is advised. However, let the words of my mouth sink into you. This is what would happen. Don't ever do it.

Submitted: July 04, 2013

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Submitted: July 04, 2013

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People say life or God, whatever you believe, will never give you more than you can handle. I'm starting to think anybody leaves, anybody lies, anybody will screw you over. Maybe you won't be led to the edge of the cliff, but you will be tempted to jump off. So what's the difference? What if you jump and never recover? What if you get cut by the jagged edge and you're wounded for the rest of your life? What if you sit there and its a battle for your mind, day after day, running to the cool stream or back to the sandstone? What if you never find the reason not to jump? What if the ravine calls to you by name? What if the storm rains come ande make the rock sleek and slippery? What if you fall? 
Where's your valient eagle who swoops to your rescue? Where's all the people who claimed they love you? Where's hope's whisper urging you to try again? 
Everyone is on top of that cliff. No one falls, no one calls, no one cares, no one dares to jump with you. You're all alone. All you hear is rushing wind, fading dreams, false benedictions, terrified but angry screams. The sounds are horrible, peaceful. The sensation is horrifying, wonderful.
You are finally free! You can finally feel the wind beneath your wings! Your tears are finally kissing the breeze! All your cares are going away, and you never, ever wanna go back to the top of that cliff. You laugh with revenge, scream in delight and think of all those who hurt you. How bad they'll feel when you hit the bottom. How they realized they could've done better before today, the day that you hit the fan. 
The sights are too quick, everything's a blur. You see snapshots of your life, lining the walls of the pit you're falling in. You see people with snake tongues spewing words of hate, you see boulder hands beating you to a bloody pulp, you see yourself finishing the track meet in your junior year of high school in first place, none of the spectators knowing you were used to running from your problems, your family, those who hurt you. 
But then you see your best friend, your grandmom. Both of them hugging together, not knowing each other, standing over your coffin. Your dad is on his knees, bawling like a baby. Your little brothers and sisters are each being held by a stranger. Someone is putting a note in your box, someone is tying a chain around your neck, a priest is cleansing you with holy water, and a funeral director comforts a mourner, moves her aside like wasted tissue, and closes your gray and pummeled face. 
Your casket bearers-- your uncle who hated you; your pastor who didn't care; your oldest brother who never cried, with tears running down his face; your grandfather, who's knees tremble with grief; and two other funeral employees parade your cherrywood vault down the hallway and into the morgue car. 
You watch as different scenes of your funeral pass before you. The one you stop breathing at is the sight of you being lowered into the ground, a week later, laying by your dead mother, your best friend, the only reason you had to live. Now you're both gone, and life will never be the same for the survivors. 
The ones who just had potential for you, the ones who just wanted to see you go far, the ones who cut their wrists and sob them selves to sleep every night. Everyone you thought that didn't care plays a part in the drama after your suicide.
Even more funerals occur, more hospitalizations and more overdoses, more diagnosises and admittance, more counseling, more candlelight memorials, more letters, more Facebook posts, more roses, more peace, more you realizing each day you stare out your hole in Heaven's floor things are worse without you. 
You try to swallow the regret, knowing you'll hit the shallow creek in a few moments. You try to blink back the anger, the questions, praying you pass out of low altitude before your head hits the bottom. You choke over memories of your mother, all the late night chocolate trips and laughs and naps and cuddles and things you can never get back until your skull is crushed by impact at the end of this fall. 
You try to convince yourself, it will be better in Heaven, being next to your mom, being next your best friend and your sister's little girl. Dancing all night, eating pizza and drinking Mountain Dew and running with the little angels on streets made of gold.
You try to convince yourself a half-made mansion will be all right. It never rains in Heaven, you could sleep in the trees. You could bunk with your mom. You could live in a cave. 
You could, you would, you should. 
You should yell for help. You should give these people one more try. You should grieve and be healed and share your mom's story. You should give music another listen to, you should give your heart another pump on a run. You should give those strokes of ink the power to change lives. You should love those who don't love you. You should make your legacy an amazing one. You should hold on . . . 
cuz this isn't your breaking point . . . 
Yeah, people lie. Each day is not going to get any better. In fact, most people's lives will get worse by the second. But, there's a choice to all of this. You can fake it, which is what most people do. Or you can find a reason to live every moment of the day. You can go back and do the things you never did! You can find what you were looking for, you can answer all your questions, you can go skydiving, and Rocky mountain climbing, and go racing a go kart on a speedway, and love deeper, and speak sweeter, and recite lyrics from Tim McGraw and Jason Aldean and Luke Bryan and Rascal Flatts. 
Cuz listen closely babe. Their life ain't perfect either. No body got more shit then the next person to you. We all got stuff we gotta deal with in life. And it ain't fun. And it ain't worth it most of the time. 
You can save a life, and you can lose another. You can be happy one moment, and cry the next. Life is a battle; an up-and-down, upside down, sideways, scream-your-head-off-at-the-moon roller coaster and you can try to get out and cuss gravity for being such a stickler and screw promises for never coming true and fight the wind when it takes your breath away. 
Or you can do something else. You can chuck the lemons back at life's face and give to other people what it never gave to you, be to other people what it never was to you, hold on for people cuz it sure as hell ain't gonna wait for your ass. You can let life be a bitch to you, or you can fight her. 
Its your choice, but if you let go, it will be the worst mistake of your life. I understand some people wanna make a bold statement at life and say "I'm not putting up with it. Don't wanna be ya. Hope your ass gets busted by somebody else than me." But it will cause deeper pain to others than you ever thought possible. You really never know what you have until you're gone, and the people on earth is what you lost. 
If you needa kick the bitch in her cahoneys then do it. But promise me you'll dig yourself a little hole in the floor of your unfinished mansion and watch all our pain. Not that you want to, you want us to be happy. But see how much you meaned to us. See how much life has changed with you, just one single person, out of the picture. You'll see. I promise you'll see. 
I know all this stuff will happen. I'm your A.I.H--angel in hiding. I'm your eyewitness, your detective, your mindreader, your ghost speaker, your little voice of hope cuz it get it that no one else will do it sometimes. I know you don't want this to happen to all of us. I know you don't want to hurt yourself forever. I know you don't want to be known as a coward. But I know you are worth so much more than you'll ever imagine. Give me one chance. I know where you are, I know your name, and I promise I have a similar story. Just don't give up on me. Cuz this is the last night you will spend alone. We will be together. Forever. I promise. And I don't break them because everybody else does. I may want to, because I'm a human, like everybody else, but I'm not everyone else. 
I am your voice, I am your heart, I am your brain, I am your friend. 
I am you.
I don't wanna say goodbye. Because you are me, the narrarator of this story; you'll feel like this, and I don't want that to happen to you. But someone help me. We need each other. And I can't do this alone. <3 
Sincerely with all my love,
Rachel 
The Voice of Pain, Hope, and Understanding


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