I remember lying there in my warm bed, still feeling the cold chill in my room at my house.  It was dark; all I could see was the blackness around me.  All I could hear was the music I had playing, and the fan going, as all my thoughts came throwing over me. My mind was as dark, as the night sky.  Thinking of everything throughout my life, my dad leaving, my Uncle Victor and Uncle Bobby dying, being molested as a kid, my Grandpa Omar, and Grandpa Dale dying, my past depression, my mistakes, my flaws, the fights between me and my mom, and me and my grandma, and sister, my best friend trying to kill herself, just everything.  I felt all these emotions just coming over me and settling in.  I felt rage, sadness, guilt, regret, and frustration.  I felt helpless, lost, disappointed, hopeless, empty, and I was mortified and depressed.  My head throbbed, my chest tightened, my heart stopped, and skipped a beat.  My whole body felt as if it were going numb.  I sat there feeling so empty, like I was already dead, just still breathing.  It wasn’t long till I broke down into tears.  I cried uncontrollably, not the whaling cry, but the silent cry.  I was hurt and I was in pain; it was all so much.  I couldn’t take it.  I wanted to end it all.  I wanted the pain to go away; my body was numb, but my heart felt as if it were breaking.  I wanted to feel alive for a minute, but at the same time I didn’t want to live anymore.  I grabbed a piece of paper.  I was writing a suicide note.  I didn’t know what would happen, but I snapped.  I took a little pencil sharpener, took the blade out, and took the razor to my skin.  I saw the blood as it peeked out, and I felt relieved.  I did it again and again.  I remember it playing in my head like a tape on repeat.  I remember when my mom and sister had said, “I wish she’d die.  I hate her so much.”  Over and over again, it played, and I cut again.  I was so disappointed in myself.  I never thought my life would turn out the way it was.  I felt like there was nothing I could do, nothing could’ve helped me.  I remember thinking and asking to myself, ‘How could watching you cut open your skin, and seeing blood from your body come out, bring you so much relief?’

It was getting late. I was physically tired, mentally exhausted.  I was emotionally destroyed.  I didn’t see a reason in trying anymore, no reason for trying to fake a smile, or fake being happy, pretending that everything was fine.  It wasn’t worth it anymore. I was a wreck.  I didn’t go to school the next day.  I just didn’t want to move or think or even breath.  I woke up.  My thighs throbbed; my eyes were swollen; my voice was shaky and raspy; my stomach hurt so badly.  I felt horrible.  The next day we didn’t have school, but I wasn’t going to go that day either.   I was just so broken and so tired.  When I look back on it now, it still scares me, thinking of the things I could have done but didn’t try.  My brother last year took pills at school, on my moms’ birthday.  He overdosed and was in the hospital, for a while.  Last year on Valentine’s Day my brother took pills again, trying to commit suicide.  The day before so February 13th he spent the day with my sister, my one-year-old niece, and me.  I remember him taking us places, to eat, to the mall, giving us money and just having a good time. 

When he was in the hospital, my sister asked why he would do that, why would he spend all this time with us and make us think things are fine then to do what he did.  He replied to her, “I wanted to spend my last day with my sisters, and my niece.  Now this year on the day before Valentine’s Day, my brother took pills again.  His P.O took him from school, and they could tell he was messed up.  My sister found a suicide note in his room.  I read it, and it got me.  I still get depressed, but I’ve never been as bad as that night.  I cut a few times after that, but never as bad.  I’ve been almost one month clean without any cutting.  I have also almost gone two weeks without any anxiety or panic attacks.  I’m proud of myself, for not giving up and making it this far.  I don’t regret my past anymore; I’ve accepted it. I know it’s going to be hard because my grandpa has been gone for three years in March.  That day is going to hit me hard.  I try to keep myself busy and try to stay happy as much as possible, and I think that, that’s the most important thing.  I went through a hard time, a rough patch, but I became away of my problems, and I’ve overcome them.  I’ve learned a lot from what I’ve been through, and it’s funny because I never realized what all I had till I almost lost it.  My scars are like a mirror, reflecting what I’ve been though.  The reality is, life is going to get hard; it’s going to seem impossible; we’re all going go through something that will change us.  We have to look at the positive outlook on life, see the bigger picture, the whole picture.  Not everything is black and white, and it’s okay to not be happy all the time; we don’t have to be strong all the time.  We need to break before come together; we need to fall before we rise; we need to say hello before we say goodbye; we have to push to get what we want in life.  My mom told me that sometimes even though it’s hard, the reality of life is everyone is going to hurt us, and the only person we really have to rely on is ourselves.  We’re the ones living this life, and it’s our responsibility to make the best of it.  I think we should always try to help everyone sometimes, somewhere; someone is fighting a battle against themselves to stay alive, and I think it’s better to try to help save a life rather than push someone to want to end their life.  Everyone deserves to be happy.