Taking the blame since I was a kid. Maybe if I didn't hold on tight to my mom's womb when she rode a roller coaster not knowing she was two months pregnant, maybe then things were better. She wouldn't have had to marry dad, live with him for five years and taking all those physical, mental, emotional abuses dad gave her throughout those years. Mom would have gone off to the US when her aunt wanted to take her there for a better future, she could've married the love of her life. Her life would've been so much better if I wasn't born at all. But no, she chose not to abort me and face all the fears and troubles. She suffered dad's violence because she didn't want me to grow up in a broken home and bore my brother three years later. Things got worse and still they broke up. She wasn't able to join her aunt in the US, fearing that she won't be there to witness the milestones of our lives. She wasn't able to end up with the love of her life because as soon as that guy found out she already has a family, the guy flee to Thailand and is now married with three kids. I still blame myself for everything, I blame myself for existing. The turn of events could've been totally different and my parent's life, especially my mom's could've been so much better. But growing up I became worse and worse every day, I try to be okay but depression kicks in every time. It comes without warning, the pain and sadness just doesn't go away. Every day, every night I can still hear voices in my head. The screams, pictures of scenarios that came to be, flashbacks, laughs, cries, everything. I feel like my mind is about to explode. Sometimes I think I hear my conscience talking to me, trying to comfort me but a different side of me drives me to the dark. I can't stand it every time my parent's would argue over the phone because of dad's irresponsible acts and lies. I remember when we were still living with that and I would see them argue that turns to physical violence, I would hit my head on the wall when I'm left alone and constantly think of killing myself at a young age. I told no one about it even until now, I don't want anyone to know because no one would ever understand. Mom and dad frequently raises their voices at each other because dad isn't and has never been a real dad to me and my brother, he would just offer financial and moral support whenever he feels like it. In most days, he doesn't. He loves us, he says he does. Sometimes we feel it but most of the time we don't, not at all. When it's that time of the year to pay for our school expenses that's when they were most likely to fight-- screams, curses, blackmails, and everything. I can't stand it that's when I started hurting myself more. The emotional pain is unbearable and so I resort to diverting it to physical pain.
I can clearly recall when I was in grade school, I sharpened my crayons with a pencil sharpener, gathered it, crushed it, and mixed it with ethyl alcohol until it becomes liquefied with it and drank it. Nothing severe happened but I felt it getting down my throat and into my stomach. Even tried drinking the baby cologne which they gave for me to use in school and smell good. Thinking that maybe then if I drink it, it would not only make me smell good but make me feel good casting the worries away. Same result as the one with the crayons. Years past and each day, each week, every month, every year I would find ways to kill myself and actually executing it. Gulped shampoo, bleach used for white clothes and cleaning the house. Nothing. Growing up I tried to protect my brother from being hurt because I don't want him ending up like me but people are just so cruel, it killed me when we grew apart even though we were living under one roof because of his girlfriend when he was a sophomore in high school. He was my constant physical reminder not to do such things and most times whenever I see him, I retreat from the deed and the thought itself. Yet things keep getting worse. The pain is too much to bear, I find comfort in hurting myself. Sometimes burning my fingers with the fire from a lighted candle stick. Suffocating myself literally. The blade has become my best friend for several years, I slit my wrist as deep and as often as I can. It made me feel okay right after. Seeing the blood dripping from my arm, my wrist, it makes me feel better and I can't stop hurting myself.
Having constant thoughts and curiosity of how it feels like if I jump off a running public vehicle or jumping off a building, welcoming the train by jumping off in front of it, jumping off the ship and letting myself drown in the ocean, electrocuting myself, purposely having myself hit by a car or a truck. These thoughts never seem to rest even until now. I still wonder, what if? And sometimes apart from killing myself, I wonder how it would it feel like killing an animal or a person. I don't entertain these thoughts so much because I love animals and I love a limited number of people and when these through creep in I run away and let myself be alone and escape the thought of it. I try to contain myself every time because I don't really want to die, I want to be understood which is by far the most impossible thing I can ever think of happening. I have had this irregular heartbeat since I was young which both my parents doesn't even really care about until now which explains why I never came to see any doctor to have it checked or anything. I have an eight star tattoo behind my right ear. Yes, behind my right ear wherein it's all boney. They think it hurts because it's all boney but honestly I didn't feel any pain throughout the process, I love the feeling on the pointy stainless needle caressing my skin and the blood coming out. Closest I ever got to successfully killing myself is when I overdosed from sixty pieces of Bayer aspirin 200mg. Every suicide is being planned from point A to Z. It takes time to study what, how, and why such a thing why not the other? It was timely because the guy whom I trust cheated on me despite him knowing I have serious trust issues. I hate it until now that they think the only reason why I did it was because of him. NO! You're completely mistaken. Behind every suicide act involves a lot of pain moreover, a number of people involved. He's not the only reason, all of you are the reason why and the very reason is myself. I hate myself at the same time that I love myself unconditionally. I love myself unconditionally enough to let myself still feel and suffer from all the pain there is.
All you see are my fake smiles, laugh, happiness. You think I'm okay? I'm not. I'm so done, so done with life. Yet I try to find reasons to live even though I can barely find one. I cared too much and still care too much for people but it's a one way street. I often catch myself with tears in my eyes I don't even know why, I lose interest doing old hobbies and even talking to people, I'm starving but I don't feel like eating anything at all. It's becoming alarming but because no one knows then it will result to a silent death-- a sudden death. The expected happening unexpectedly. I cry out for help, all the time. I sent hints and even came to a point where I made things obvious that I'm drowning in sorrow. Yet no one hears me, they see me then they look away. Even my whole family, my parents -- they've always been aware of this but never really cared enough. I've been vocal about this because I'm being alarmed by my own behavior but what do they do about it? They shrug me off EVERY TIME or they'd rather be on their phone connecting themselves to someone distant and never really hearing me out. They care but not enough to believe me. When I got back into consciousness at the hospital they both gave me this melancholic look like they are there for me but they don't understand me. They know things but they choose to not do something about it. They've always pampered me but never heard my cry. They saw and heard me literally cry yet ignored it on purpose. I'm sending signals here like I've always been yet they were never alarmed about it not even after the close enough succeeded suicide. What they see and know is just the tip of the iceberg, they never really want to know why. Are they scared? Oh I bet they are and I know it hurts them too but what is there really left to do when your parents won't even care? I remember I had a talk with mom before, she told me that I should stop needing people when others need me too. She told me to grow up. Like seriously mom? You have no idea at all how it feels like dealing with this alone all these years even until now. And dad? He doesn't care at all. He just needs me whenever he's with his "girls" and when I need to cover up for him for messing around and ditching dates and stuff. If mom has no idea, dad is the one who doesn't give a fuck about it at all. My brothers? I love them more than I do love my parents but I'm sure they'll be fine without me. Wyeth and I have drifted apart because of his ex girlfriend when he was in high school. He was my best friend, he has always been there for me not until that time and then I completely had no one. Walden? He's too young to know about things but I can feel that he feels my heartbreaking all the time. I fucked up at being a daughter, a sister, a student, a friend, everything. I failed at simply existing. I have failed everyone including myself still I try to move on and be okay.
I'm at that point in life again where I don't even know why I still choose to breathe. Leaving this place, getting into a great university abroad, starting a new life, and helping out my family is my last straw in life. And everyone thinks I'm overreacting about it? NO ONE UNDERSTANDS! NOT EVEN A SINGLE SOUL DOES! I used to have people who talked to me constantly and used to be my motivators and support system but what happens? In the end they always get tired of it and leave. Yeap, I'm always being left. Alone. Always. This explains why when I love someone I pour into it and they say I'm too much. I love myself, I love myself enough to be numb to not let anyone hurt me ever again. The first stage of this is when I speak less put on a straight face until I can't feel anything anymore. Numb. If only I could live without a heart probably my life would be 100% awesome, if only I can I would. Here I go again, tears falling from my eyes without any reason, me feeling numb, me not caring about anything-- lost. What's even the point of talking to anyone when they would always shut you out and utter words like they mean it. Does anyone ever really understand me? How can that even be possible when I don't understand myself at all. If only people would stop pretending, if only people would pay more attention and care even just a bit. If only...
Most of the time I daydream about my wake, my funeral where a lot of people would surely claim they miss me and love me. Tell stories of how we met, memories-- they're always good to look back at especially when they're all you've got. The day where everyone loves you. What's the difference of dying by natural death or sickness compared to suicide is that the latter is unknown and the second one, well... it also unknown but not to the person itself. It was well-rehearsed in their mind, well-planned. And the thing is, this is just happens a bit early than scheduled. Unexpectedly. Uncertainty. But isn't how life works? Have you ever really though what if all these people at the funeral claiming they love me actually gave a spare time to understand me, then maybe at least I couldn't have resorted to this. I feel nothing, I want to know if there's really life after death. What happens and where do we really go after that total darkness from our vision, after that peaceful last breath we take, after not feeling our earthly body? Where do we go from here? Maybe uncertainty of the afterlife is better than the certainty of feeling everything all at once.
