When I'm alone | Teen Ink

When I'm alone

November 9, 2014
By Anonymous

Laughing, smiling, talking under the moonlight. Everything is so perfect. Somehow, everything feels right, as it should be.
“Oh! That’s my bus! I have to go.”
I feel a quick, reassuring peck on my cheek before he jogs to the bus to leave for the night.
This is when the real struggle begins. Alone. Waiting impatiently for my bus, my leg shakes as I try desperately to think about something to distract myself. Anything, anything I repeat to myself. I check my bag for something to think about, no book, phone is at 10% battery, which I need to save in case of emergency. The small leg vibrations quickly made themselves to the rest of my body. Arms, head, chest, fingers. Everything is trembling. No reason why, maybe it is just my body’s reaction to my fear of solitude. I have nothing to think about, no way of distracting myself now. I know that any minute the thoughts would arise, my dreaded thoughts.
Suddenly my mind went black as the emptiness seemed to excel. A thought, any thought, please. No, not the thoughts I fear. The thoughts that intrude on my delusion of happiness, the ones that remind me I’m not good or even okay. The darkness spreads in my mind, ruining all of what I think about. I start thinking about how useless I am and how nobody likes me and I’m a waste of time, money, and life.
Pssh-t! The bus got here thankfully. My quivering body barely makes it to a seat before I collapse. Tired and in pain. A headache that seems to never end spreads to my stomach, legs, back. Pain in general. For a moment my mental suffering gets lost through the physical suffering. It comes back though, it always does. The thoughts are inevitable. They grow as all the other sounds wash out and I become distant from reality to ride this wave of thoughts.
Nobody likes me. I’m selfish and manipulative. I don’t even know if this pain is created by myself so I’m interesting or if it’s real. I’m self-destructive. I’m a waste. Nobody cares about me. I could disappear and nobody would cry or feel pain. Why don’t I disappear? I should disappear. I will disappear, so I can stop being a waste. How will I disappear? A gun? Too inaccessible. A knife? Too slow and painful, I don’t want any more pain. Pills? We don’t have any strong ones. Jump? There are no buildings tall enough. Get hit by a car? That’s not a guarantee. I guess I’ll have to continue living this terrible excuse for a life a bit longer.
NO! This is what I feared would happen. It’s the truth though; I might as well accept that.
“Main Street!” a mechanical voice says in the background as I snap back to reality and rush to open the doors and get out of the bus. I walk slowly, easily down the dark road. A few drunken men, stumbling over their own feet, make their way towards me as I walk. I feel threatened for a second, tensing my muscles until I remember that it doesn’t even matter if they kill me since nobody wants me alive anyway. As they stagger straight past me, I can’t help but feel that I missed an opportunity. Each step I take is heavy with regret, building and weighing me down more until my legs are lead. Not knowing where I go, the routine and usual act guides me until I reach my door.
I hesitate to pull out my key, but I do anyways to open the door. My parents yell about my tardiness and so called recklessness, clueless of how innocent I am and how little I’ve done in my life. Their voices seem so distant as I lose focus and let them believe they hold my attention with the occasional I’m sorry or okay. Not knowing of what they’re saying, I feel my hands turn to fists and I become tense, and I feel hot. I can’t help or explain it. I sincerely say goodnight and I love you, force of habit, before storming off to get ready for bed. As I got ready, I gave in to my thoughts during my solitude and let them haunt me. Listened and started to believe they were true.
In the bathroom, I abruptly open the cabinet to get my toothbrush. While reaching out, I spot a jar of new sleeping pills my mother got to help her sleep, stronger this time. I lift my arm and grab that instead, taking the jar and pulling out a dozen to be sure and I chug them all, swallowing them, the cold sensation of freedom descending my throat. To my bed I go. And I fall asleep, hoping, just hoping that I won’t wake up.


The author's comments:

This is a fiction piece based on true events or dark thoughts but taken to a more extreme scenario.


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