My Other Side
My time is coming to an end soon. Every day, thousands of us take their lives just to end the pain; end the sadness; to hopefully feel at peace. I’m surprised that I made it this far.
We all try to fall in and out of love. Yeah, understandable, but when did society go from having a lovely family where the parents were always there for their own kids, to a place where a kid can now live without knowing if they are truly loved by either of their parents? Honestly, it is hard for me to tell that my parents are proud of me. I am the youngest of three and I am three years apart from the middle-aged kid, so I should be different from them and at least gotten some attention; however, I can't recall feeling admired as a child.
My whole life I was just trying to get attention from people that would at least acknowledge me. I never truly felt loved by either of my parents, but maybe that is because I was taken away from the one that I thought would truly care about me. I can’t think of the world where my parents were in love and they loved their kids equally.
Being a kid of divorced parents, we were forced to choose one or the other. I was forced to choose my mother for the time being of my young age, but, as I grew older, I started to learn about all the terrible things that she had done to me and the family. Even though I am older now I have the understanding of the reasoning behind her actions, and being a person from this new ‘Y’ generation where sex is divorce are raging rampant; I still cannot forgive my own birth mother for her actions that occurred over a decade ago. It still scars my metaphorical heart imagining her walking away from my father and cheating on him. Trying to correct herself, she forced me to come along with her; I was about to go into my third year of school and was being told, “You must go with your mother, but first, you are to live with your Aunt until your mother gets better.” Being a naïve little kid, I must’ve thought that this was a new experience or rather a “mini-vacation”.
I am surprised that I have not resorted to drugs or other inhumane or body-damaging external supplements to stop this pain and the visions that reoccur through my head and projected to my eyes. I, on the other hand, cannot consider myself lucky because there were times that I grew weak and almost gave into the overdose of pills or the blade because it would ease the pain by making me focus on my life. Sometimes I still have the urge to overdose on vitamins because it would be a quick and easy death. I guess what is really stopping me from doing this is the hope that I will find someone to save me, or at least I could find someone to save.
I never thought I would get this far into life. When asked the question, “where do you see yourself in five years?” I can never answer because I don’t know if I will finally give into this part of me that is empty. I honestly think that if I were to commit suicide, it wouldn’t have to do anything about college being ‘too hard’ or my inability to ‘handle college life’; it would be from my past that I have lived.
I joke about death. I joke about killing myself. I joke about it because I never thought that a moment would come that I would actually take my life until that moment finally came. Being seconds away from death, seconds away from choosing death than life, holding the pills in my hand, unknowing what they would exactly do to my body, you see your other half. This other half is the half that you have wanted so badly. There he is, looking back at you holding out his hand to you asking you to come with him, to teach you how to change, to be more like the person you want to become.
I want to know what death feels like so bad. I often contemplate running towards my window and jumping on through to about a forty-foot drop to death. Imagining it to the end and then just like that, my body twitches making sure that I am still alive; sadly, I am.
This, this is the side that nobody has seen, and hopefully nobody will. I hide it so well and forget about it when I sleep; happy again the next day until the next time that a feeling like this happens again. When it does come next, will it be my final one? Will I be too weak to fight the urge to let the blade run its course; let the pills kill me slowly while I scream in pain until I am comatose; or will I finally make the dash for something that I knew was impossible for me to do and die in that manner?