It’s 6 p.m
Today just pushed you off your limits.
You’re not brave anymore. You’re all broken and you’re done with everything.
You’re a deeply unhappy person and you’re lost. There is too much self hatred. You’re exhausted battling it. You are prepared and all set to give up.
You decide that you want to kill yourself.
You silently walk up to your room, close the door, bolt it from within, and start writing your suicide note. You know it by heart, now. You’ve had several drafts of it written in your mind that you finish the three page note, without lifting the pen off the paper even once.
It’s all done. You’ve said all that you have to say, and it sounds way better than how you had rehearsed it in your mind.
You take out the bottle of pills you’d hidden behind your book shelf and take them all. Now that you’ve done it, you unbolt the door, and leave a tiny creak open so that they can find you without having to break it. You crawl into bed, hug the letter close to your chest and close your eyes. Sleep comes quite naturally and you drift off.
A few hours later, your little brother walks into your room, calling you out with your nick name, hoping you’d play with him. You don’t answer or shout back at him like you usually do, so he walks in intrigued by the grave silence that has filled your room. He sees you in bed, eyes closed and absolutely still. He thinks you’re asleep, and runs down to the kitchen to tell mom how you’re sleeping instead of studying for your exams.
Mom walks in, annoyed at how the two of you won’t give her a break and she tries to wake you up. However she notices something odd the very minute she steps into the room. She comes closer to you with a lot of fear and the note that has slipped off your cold hands give her a hint, but she refuses to believe what she thinks she’s seeing.
She unfolds it with her trembling hands and reads it. Her worst fears are confirmed.
Sobbing and yelling at you, she tries to wake you up. She screams your name. She violently shakes the empty shell that once used to be her baby girl, hoping that you’d gasp for air and wake up. But you don’t.
Your little brother, who is so confused and bewildered runs down and calls Dad. All that he can manage to say is, ‘Daddy, Akka won’t wake up and Mom is crying.’ Your Dad rushes back home and runs up to your room, and finds your mother holding your lifeless body close against her chest, crying hysterically.
It finally hits him, and he is shattered. He screams. He screams and throws things on the wall. Tears stream down his eyes, and you know that your Dad hasn’t cried ever since he lost his mother, and that was almost thirteen years before you were even born. The strongest person you’ve ever known, your idol is down on his knees and he is crying. Your mom stumbles up to him, and they sit at the corner, holding each other crying.
And it’s because of you.
It’s the next day, at college.
There’s an announcement. The Principal tells everyone about your suicide. It takes a few minutes for the message to sink into the minds of the diverse crowd and once it does, there is grave silence.
Everyone blames themselves.
The teachers think they were hard on you. The mean girls, who used to talk behind your back, think they gave you a tough time. The annoying boy who used to call you tease you and call you names, he cannot forgive himself for never telling you how much he thought you were beautiful. Your friends? They’re sobbing too, wondering how they never thought something was wrong with you and wishing they could’ve helped you before it was too late. Your boyfriend? He’s in shock. He can’t believe it. He knew what you were going through, but not even in his worst nightmares did he know that it would get bad enough that you’d chose to end it all so quickly. He was the one you told everything to, he can’t handle it, he breaks down and runs out of the room. He sinks to the floor, shaking and screaming, but no tears are coming out. He can’t feel anything.
It’s a few days later.
At your funeral.
Everyone came, because everyone knew you.
You were that little girl with a wide smile and a bubbly personality. You were the one that was always there for them, offering a shoulder to cry on or telling people that they should be strong and brave for things will get better eventually. They talk about all the good memories they had with you. Well, there was a lot.
Your little brother still doesn’t understand it. He’s too young to grasp the concept of suicide. Mom and Dad just told him that you’re dead. He knows what that means. He knows that it means you’ll never come back. And that hurts him a lot. You were his big sister. You were supposed to be there for him, at least that was what he thought. He thought that no matter how much he messed up a Physics assignment you would always be there to fix it. He thought that you would always be around, watching him grow and becoming an adult. Your friends? They are strong through out, but once they take you away they just lose it. They cry and cry for the several days that came after.
It’s two years later.
Your college management has appointed a therapist and she counsels the students at least once a week. Your teachers all don’t love teaching anymore. Some even quit their jobs. The girls who gave you a tough time have anorexia and battle social anxiety. The boy that used to tease you slips into low self esteem. He can never feel good about himself. Your friends all go into depression.
The boy that used to love you? He doesn’t know how to love anymore, he has alcohol problems and just sleeps around with girls. He tries to kill himself, but he did not succeed like you did.
Your little brother? He finally grows up and discovers the truth about how you died. He doesn’t know what faith is. He hasn’t laughed ever since the day you died, and your parents almost forgot that he exists. He self harms, cuts himself and cries himself to sleep at night. He does all that you did for before it lead to your death, and you’re not there too help him out and he doesn’t have anyone to play, fight or talk to.
Your parents? Well, they fell apart. Your Dad becomes a workaholic to distract himself from your death. Your mom is clinically depressed and she’s just in bed all day.
Your mistakes have ruined everyone else’s life and altered the psyche of several people you shared that life with. They aren’t the same anymore. Your death has affected them, all of them. In a nasty, painful way that even you won’t be able to alter.
People care. It might not look like it, but they do.
All our lives are interconnected in a complex intricate pattern. Your choices don’t just affect you. They affect everyone.
Suicides are permanent and unreal solutions to temporarily real problems.
I know you’re sad. I know it all looks quite complicated and hopeless now.
I’m not going to ask you to stay happy and have a good day.
I’m simply going to ask you to have a day. Stay alive. Feed yourself. Wear comfortable clothes. Talk to people. It’ll get better. Don’t give up on yourself already. Things can’t get better if you give up. You’ll soon be living a life you’ll be proud of. Until then, have a day.
Life gets better. But you have to be there to see it.
P.S. Don’t end your life. You have so much to live for. I am here for absolutely anyone who needs to talk. Even if we haven’t talked before, I’m here for you.
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