I sit alone with a derailed mind, twisted thoughts poisoning my last drop of sanity.

I cry, I scream, I claw at my skin, scrapes and scratches running up and down my broken body.

How could you do this to me?

Was this your intention?

To break me down to my most vulnerable state?

God, you must hate me.

Hate, hate, hate.

I’m filled with rage.

How could you?

And time doesn’t heal this wound.

I’m left behind by the world.

I drown in my own torment.

Each day it hurts more, the knife digging deeper.

Withered away, I let reality carve me up.

You see, I’m not broken because you didn’t love me.

I’m broken because you did.

what if

one day it all stopped

all your words and negativity.

what if

i didn't have to hide

from the fear of what you say

what if

i could just be me

and not pretend for you.

what if

i had the courage

to make my dreams come true.

what if

i could live happily ever after?

so when i was in third grade, i tried to draw a person.

just a generic person, not anyone specific.

but i guess i ended up thinking it looked like obama.

so i decided 'hey, why not? let's make it michelle and barack on their wedding day...'

and that's how we ended up with this gem that i rediscovered today.

why? just... why???

Thank you for letting me go. I’m sorry I couldn’t thank you personally. I’m so sorry you had to deal with me.

I’m not worth the heartbreak, the pain, the emotional baggage.

Trust me.

Let me go and

Move on, okay?

I’m a lost cause, dead to the ones I love, betrayed by the one that was my forever, haunted by ghosts of the past.

But you’re different.

You have a chance. Save yourself.

By the time you read this, I will be in a wonderland, a place without pain or sorrow.

The jump is 50 stories high, enough for flashback, don’t you think?

I will miss you. So much.

Maybe... you will think of me too? With happy memories?

Please. Forgive me.

When my funeral is held, tell them.

Tell them that I wanted to be free, I needed to leave the world behind.

Tell them about my life and how I was the one person who could make this world a bit more chaotic.

Tell them that my favourite flowers were orchids, how I would have loved to spend the rest of my life being my crazy self, how my life comprised of me being a fool to try and light up the world.

Ask them to burn my body and scatter the ashes into the ocean.

That’s where I belong, anyway.

Please don’t cry. I cannot bear to see you cry.

I’ve always had a fascination with falling. You know this, don’t you?

I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to you, that broke you.

Thank you for trying to be there, for making an effort.

I’m sorry that I can’t tell you that I love you more than I should have.

Unrequited love, we could call it.

But it’s okay. You gave me more happiness than I deserved. What we had was enough.

Maybe I left too soon. but you know, I was always on the ride of excitement.

You were, and will always be my shining star in the dark.

You were trusting to me, and kind, and endlessly forgiving.

I’m sorry I broke your trust. I hate that I had promsied to always be there, to never just die but I’m barely hanging on, love. I’m barely hanging on.

Please don’t hate me. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

You will live a better life,in a society that doesn’t demand you to be cold and harsh.

I only ever wished for that, but I was too selfish, too stubborn to let you go. I promise everything will be easier, will be better now.

What I can tell you is:

My last thought will be that

You’re beautiful.

Promise.

I remember so many songs that I’ve loved, and all the times I’d listen to each one. Again and again because I couldn’t capture enough of the beauty that so deeply appealed to me, that made me feel alive.

Again and again, clinging to each one as if in fear that listening to anything else would break the spell and make me forget the one that enthralled me. Denying that my passion was doomed to be fleeting.

But it always was.

Novelty would turn to mediocrity, excitement would be numbed by repetition. The love that I felt so purely would inevitably be sucked away. The outlying song left punished for the sole crime of being exceptional.

But I realize, people are no different.

I am no different.

For you, I am the song that you listened to until it turned stale. I am the one who you loved with all the passion in the world, so long as it didn’t dry up.

But it did.

I am the one who you let slip away, forgotten. Replaced by new temptations that only wipe me from your heart.

I am the flame that burned too bright to ever last.

And so I didn’t.

I was once told to grow two plants; an orchid and a rose.

I disliked orchids.

However, I had to care for it.

I planted it, but I despised it.

I watered it, but I hated it.

One week, there was a drought, and I could only water one plant.

I watered the rose but spared some drops for the orchid.

The orchid later died.

I was told that it was okay because I tried.

However, they would never know.

It was April fifth, 2010; a Saturday like any other. Bright, and breezy like April usually is. There were 31 days to my twelfth birthday. I should have been planning for it, but I wasn’t. I should have slept in, but I didn’t. It was as if my family had been turned into the timer for a bomb, treating every moment as if it was our last. Every second counted. It was barely nine in the morning when I was forced out of bed by the sound of Charlene getting stuff out of the closet in our room.

There was no beauty in the flowers sprouting out of the garden in the front yard. Even they seemed to droop their heads as if they knew where we were going. My mother got in the driver’s seat of the van, her fingers turning white as they gripped the steering wheel when we left the driveway. I was oblivious, as I often was in these kinds of situations. A child, being forced to see something so dark. How could a child know people died and didn’t come back? What did that mean even? I didn’t know. Sure I’d known about death and funerals and had been to a few already, but I didn’t understand the point.

It was quiet in the van. Stacy in the front seat, Char and I in the middle row. The radio seemed to play sad songs with haunting melodies, which was probably how we all felt. Very little was said. I didn’t even complain about anything, which had to be a sign the world was crashing into the sun.

The parking lot was full. It’s a horrible feeling really, to realise that the owner of the car either works in an environment where death and sickness are prominent or that they are there to see someone who was dying. The Hospital loomed up like some kind of giant ready to swallow us whole. My mom and Char were holding my hands, swinging me back and forth, back and forth as a distraction while we crossed the parking lot and walked into the mouth of the beast.

I was a tiny child, and people often mistook my father for my grandfather. I told them off with the fiery passion a tiny eleven-year-old can that I was here to see my daddy. Before making it to the elevator I steered my sisters and my mother into the gift shop. I never understood the purpose of a gift shop in a hospital. Gift shops were meant for museums and landmarks that sell t-shirts with dumb sayings like “someone who loves me very much went to this place and brought me back this shirt,” gift shops were to remember something good. Today it was simply a distraction.

I hated the hospital, it was too bright, too big and smelled like it needed to be bleached every thirty seconds. My dad had been in and out since I was able to remember and I always had the mantra that if I didn’t go see him, he’d be upset and would get better to come home to me. For the longest time, I believed it, because that’s what always happened. Finally, I went, there was something in the way my mom looked at me that made me go. But I made sure to be compensated for it. The gift shop was where a Webkinz puppy was bought for me.

Finally, we got into the elevator. I was content to forget where I was so I could focus on the little toy in front of me. It was funny, in a depressing, ironic way, that I took the lead off the elevator to the ICU and knew exactly where I was going. I picked up the red phone off the wall that made me stretch onto my toes to reach it, and it rang. A lady answered politely and I sweetly but forcefully assured her that my name was Allison Jones and I was here with my mommy and sisters to see my daddy William Jones. I could hear the smile in her voice as she replied that she would open the door for me.

The doors made a loud buzzing sound as my mom held one open for my sisters and I. The stark white hallway stretched out a long way in front of us. It was terrifying, and I reached for my mother’s hand and gripped my puppy tighter in the other. As we walked down the hallway I had a habit of peeking into the other rooms to see if the people inside were okay. I always tried to, at least, make them smile. There was a man a couple of rooms away from my dad who I’d always stick my tongue out at and then he would do it back and we’d grin. He was out of bed that day, and I was so happy for him I forgot to stick my tongue out. I looked astonished for a brief second, but then beamed ear to ear and he laughed at me. I never knew his name, but I wish I did.

The beeping of machines could be heard from a couple of steps outside of my dad’s room. Just outside the door, there were masks, gloves, and gowns for us to put on. When I’d asked why my mom explained it was so that we didn’t give him our germs, I looked at her and replied but we have his DNA, we have the same germs. She smiled pitifully and patted me on the head.

We spent the majority of the day with dad. We were there reading books and helping with homework and learning that I could do mental math faster than my mom could write out the equations. It could have been a Hallmark family moment, it should have been; it felt like one. It was one if you didn’t look up from your book. If you ignored the polished floor, and the IV drip and the heart monitor and the oxygen mask. If you didn’t look out the door and see people rushing about, pushing carts and machines in scrubs. If you didn’t think about the fact dad hadn’t moved or said a word since we’d been there. I babbled on incessantly about the dog I had in my hand. Somewhere inside we knew his breathing was ragged, and his eyes barely opened and his fingers could hardly bend, but we didn’t acknowledge it. Because he’d be okay. Because he’d come home. Because he had to. There couldn’t be another option.

The fluorescent lights above started to hurt my eyes, and dad’s TV started playing the same shows over again. Char’s stomach grumbled and she laughed sheepishly. We didn’t want to ask for more than we had. We were the timer, and we were silently counting down to the explosion. Mom agreed that it was time for dinner. We packed up and took turns telling dad we’d be back after dinner. I think I kissed him - I hope I did. We all told him how much we loved him. And I stood outside the door while mom said goodbye. I saw his hand twitch like he was trying to wave at us. It had been a while since I’d heard his voice, and I wished he could say something to make me feel better.

Dinner was over, I don’t even remember what we’d had. Char and I were in our room, deciding what to bring to entertain ourselves with this time. Snapping gloves at each other was fun, but eventually, you get in trouble from the big nurse. Although the giggling probably disturbed the patients, I think they need to hear it. There’s not enough joy in a hospital. There’s so much bleak, empty feelings that take over. It’s not fair.

Mom was telling us to hurry up, visiting hours ended at eight. But then the phone rang. And I glanced over at Char who’d gone white and rigid. I didn’t know what that meant. I asked if she was okay. She put a finger to her lips and I made a gesture suggesting there was a zipper on my mouth.

Outside our room, with the door open, mom was heard loud and clear. She answered politely and then she sucked in a deep breath that took the place of “Oh God” but it sounded like the air had been stolen from her lungs and she was throwing up at the same time. Then Char was leading me out of our room by the hand to my mother in the kitchen who pulled me and my sisters into her and cried. She didn’t have to say it, we all knew what it meant; the timer was over.

It felt like the end of the world. It felt like my heart had been ripped out and stomped on by ugly, non-skid, white shoes. It was as if he’d waited for us to leave so we didn’t see it. Like a cat, he’d run off to die so we didn’t cry. But we cried. There was so much crying I imagined the house flooding and then floating away.

We mustered up some courage, and dabbed away what we could of the tears, and went back to gather up his stuff. Pajamas, his portable radio, a little stuffed-squirrel I made him keep by his bed so he wasn’t alone; none of it felt like his anymore. The room felt like a cage; like this was all there was in existence. The four walls, a window, a curtain, a door to the hall and us.

It was a crushing realisation that now I’d never hear him say my name when I came home from school. And I’d never watch another Disney movie and sing while he pretended he didn’t know the words to the songs. And I’d never get a hug from him ever again. I didn't know what else to do, so I cried. I cried and I cried until they turned to sobs, and those sobs turned into almost screams. I cried until I couldn’t breathe and I was convinced I was having a panic attack and I was going to die too.

I didn’t go to school for a week, and then almost two weeks, and teachers dropped off cards from my class. They never made me feel better because they were so generic, and sounded so forced like nobody actually cared.

At some point, my mom shared that it was their 25th wedding anniversary. April 29th was his birthday. Exactly a week before mine. I didn’t want to turn twelve, I didn’t feel like it mattered because one day we’d all be dead. Why celebrate something that meant you were that much closer to dying?

Sometimes I wish he was a terrible person, so it’d be easier to forget him. But he was my hero. He was brave and strong, but soft and sweet. He had scars and tattoos and all these stories that I could have listened to forever. Other days I wish he was in prison. At least I could see him through a glass window or something. I could hear the only voice besides my mother’s that made me feel like everything would be okay even if the world ended.

April 5th was the day I felt half of myself collapse into a numb abyss. But it’s also the day I learned that the world keeps spinning, and we have to survive because if we don’t, nobody will remember the people who deserve it. That's when I learned the severity of "in sickness and in health."

Love is hard.

Ceiling. No noise. My bedroom, but what’s different?

How long have I been asleep? Let me get up. The apartment looks odd. Nothing’s changed. Everything is in its place, but…

The atmosphere, that’s it! Everything around me is so still. No traffic noise, no animal sounds. It’s as if I am the only person left alive.

My eyes keep traveling to the kitchen. I’ll have to walk through the livingroom to get there. This is so eerie. I can’t hear my own footsteps.

Okay, I’m in the kitchen. Now the pull is towards the front door. Something, someone? Why? What am I going to find on the other side?

My heart is filling with fear as I touch the doorknob. I’m overwhelmed with curiosity. Is it my instinct that screams go back to bed?

From over my shoulder I can see someone in my bed. Did someone sneak inside? The door is locked. How did this person get in?

I need to know. The other side can wait. Who is this intruder? Yes, get angry. Let it fuel you so that you can defend yourself. Pick up the hammer, quietly, and still no sound. I can’t afford to be distracted by my hearing loss. Get to the bedroom!

No. What is this? How can that be me? I’m me! What is this?

Wake him. NO! Instinct won’t allow. No coming back from the waking.

Tears. Am I dead? The tears are warm against my face.

He, I look at peace. I don’t want to die. Please, let me just lie here. If I just lay on top of me, maybe we can come together.

It’s working! My right foot sank into his/my other right foot. They fit together perfectly. This feels natural, like it was meant to be.

Let me climb into the bed. Fit my other foot. Yes! Much easier that time.

I’ll sit slowly. Gently enter into the torso. I can feel the heartbeat. It’s faint, but both my hearts are synchronizing. Deep breath. I heard that! Lie back completely. Let your head meld with the other.

Ceiling. Traffic noise. Nighttime bird sounds. I hear my breath.

What would I have seen on the other side of the door?

it is not the dark

that instills that

crippling fear

within my mind

but the fear of

what is in the dark

that keeps me from

taking that first step