My Suicidal Friend
There she goes again; laughing, smiling, and acting like everything's alright. It is such an enigma, how she was able to manage to smile despite all those struggles she was going through.
No one noticed nor realized that she was the one whose world was truly breaking apart, for she held others’ broken pieces together and ignored her own bleeding soul.
I tried to stop her. I tried to wake her up from her excessive selflessness that will one day lead to her self-destruction. But she didn't listen, not even a little. She brushed me off and just said that it would be better that way.
Little did I know that she was already foreshadowing her plans.
Feeling so enraged, I told her that if she doesn't put a stop in her dangerous behavior, she would lose me too; that I won't be her friend anymore. But what she said broke my heart while she pushed me away, so I left.
Yes.
I left her alone, and that was my biggest mistake.
I was supposed to be her positive side—her friend that will fill her with positivity and bombard her with optimism. A star that will shine so bright, it would light up her darkest of nights.
But I left her all alone, which just drove her into a wall even further.
I tried to come back into her life but she ignored me. I knocked on her doors, but she didn't even give me any time of her day, nor even lent an ear. So I just stood there, staring at her, not being able to do anything.
I watched her paint; every night, every morning, and every single time she finds a moment. She painted so much that one would have thought that she was making an art gallery in her own room. But her artworks weren't pretty at all. So I tried to hold her back, and bring an end to this new found hobby of hers, but not because it wasn't aesthetic.
It was because her masterpieces were all drenched in the scarlet red color of blood. Her canvas was actually her wrist, and her paint brush was a sharp little razor.
Yet she didn't listen—again. She continued doing that terrible deed to herself, as she kept wearing that fake smile she shows everybody around her. It was truly heartbreaking to watch.
I felt so guilty, not being able to help; not being able to lighten the burdens she had been carrying ever since the beginning; and not being able to make her truly happy.
I am such a failure.
But... It has always been this way.
I've always been an existence that was never capable of doing anything.
Sometimes I ask myself, why did I even exist in this world, when I couldn not even help a friend who means so much to me?
I witnessed it all.
How she trembled in the dark; how her pillows got wet from all the tears she shed in the deafening silence of the nights; how her fingers held onto her sheets to brace herself from the incoming agony that's about to befall on her; how she shivered from the tender fingers that started to explore her skin in a soft and tender manner, yet harsh enough that destroys her whole being in every touch.
She was stabbed over and over again, yet she wouldnt die. She wished she had, but no; she kept living and just endured every thrust that was forced into her delicate body.
With a rhythm that goes faster in every second that passes, her thoughts got so tangled up that she almost lost her mind; and with that last plunge into her deepest core which was meant to be hidden away, a poisonous toxin infected her very soul, which would kill her from the inside, where no medicine could ever cure the horrors it caused.
But what did I do?
Nothing.
I was too afraid to do anything, so I kept quiet. Like a tree, I just stood there and did nothing but watch.
I feel so ashamed, calling myself her friend and her source of positivity, yet I wasn't able to protect her.
I wanted to hurt myself but this body has had enough. Tears streamed down my face, as I look at her in the eyes.
She had that tired look on her face—a kind of exhaustion that yearns for sleep, yet never wanting to wake up ever again. Her eyes that look so puffy from crying so much every night, along with such dark bags under them that shows all those sleepless nights where she fought all the monsters inside her head all by herself.
I hate it.
I hate seeing her.
Whenever I see her, I feel so guilty, and I feel so much anger.
She's so ugly.
She's so pathetic.
She's so pitiful.
With a loud crash, the hand mirror I was just holding broke into a thousand pieces as I threw it against the wall, and in that moment, I knew what I am supposed to do.
Like that mirror, I should destroy my former self, and become a person better than how I was yesterday.
I should change for the better.
I should change for myself, for I deserve to be treated right too.
This life might have given me so much sufferings, but that does not define who I am; who she, my past, was.
She was truly my friend; my devastated self that I was not able to save. So this time, I'll definitely release her from this tragic world that imprisoned her for so long—by erasing her existence, and become the better “her” that can take on any obstacle this life could ever throw at her.
The suicidal girl who was my dear friend, will finally rest.
I, her remaining positive mind and soul, shall take her place, and give her the place where she truly belongs.