Here I Am

No one ever talks about the feeling someone experiences when they are about to commit suicide. Maybe it’s because death claims his victims before they have a chance to make a sound. But here I am. We’re not supposed to talk about suicide, and even if we do, it’s never about the raw intense feeling you get when you make the decision to end your life. Standing there with the uncounted number of pills, tears choking me on their way out, “never had a movement been so hard” (Zusak 209). The finality of being the one to take my own life. I stand there, looking at my two innocent younger sisters asleep in their beds. They don’t know what’s going on, and for that I am glad. No one should ever experience this feeling of such hopelessness and self hate that they are willing to take their own life. And yet here I am. I am at the point where I hate myself so much that I would murder myself to get away. I wake up my sisters quietly to tell them I love them for the last time, and escape their room before I collapse onto the floor, half from the pills taking their toll on my body, half from the tears clawing their way out, overwhelming me. My head hits the floor and I think this is it. But I force myself to get up, they can’t wakeup to this. I tell my twelve year old sister who is just barely beginning to experience the bitter taste of life to not come wake me up in the morning. Let mom and dad do it. As I stumble my way up to my room I open myself up to greet my sought after death. And yet here I am. As we both know death did not take me that night. I still don’t know why, or if I’m glad or sad that he didn’t. I understand what Liesel meant. There is no movement harder than the one that accepts defeat. The one that accepts that you’re broken beyond repair. There’s no going back. And yet here I am.