I Lost It With My Sanity the Moment You Were Gone
Chapter One
She was always a quiet little girl. She grew older, became a teenager. She was still quiet, just a little angst-filled and angry. But most of her feelings, she kept to herself. She was a different child; not into the kind of things you’d expect most of the teenage population of the time to be into.
She preferred to dress in the latest band tee-shirt, listen to the more emotional side of rock ‘n’ roll, cut her hair and dye it black. She wore black nail-polish and heavy black eyeliner. If she was seen with these, she was called names and pestered for hours. She soon grew interested in girls as well as boys, resulting in more prejudice.
By the time she was fifteen, she couldn’t take it anymore. She was already cutting to ease the pain, but this cut would be the deepest and most long-lasting. This cut would be her final farewell to the cruel world who gave her shit.
This cut would be her suicidal adieu.
***
Lying in the bathtub in the corner of the bathroom, with the softest tones of the softest songs of her favorite band seeping out of the speakers on her laptop, she let the tears roll down her screwed up features.
The knife in her hand wasn’t the sharpest in the drawer. She couldn’t bring herself to use her mothers favorite ten-inch one, the one which the Christmas Supper turkey was cut each year. It would be too cliché and ironic that she would use something that sharp and treasured. She wasn’t one for tradition, therefore used the less sharp but just as lethal bread-knife.
Fumbling with the keyboard of her laptop, she turned up the music and changed the track to something less sordid but with much more deathly lyrics.
She knew that what she was about to do was exactly what this band was against. Whereas most people she knew decided from the off that cutting and suicide was what they were promoting, she knew otherwise. They were trying to prevent innocent lives being taken by their own will.
But she had to do it.
No one wanted her, she was a waste of space and a freak. In her mind, she wasn’t needed and nobody loved her; she didn’t deserve a life, even if it was one as pain-filled, routine and worthless as hers.
There was hardly any eyeliner left on her lids by now. The mascara and eyeliner was a river down each side of her face, down each cheek. Even her black eye-shadow was smudged. Her make-up dripped down onto her white band tee-shirt, staining it. Usually, she would have been distraught, but it was never going to be worn by her again.
She’d written her suicide note, explaining why. Telling them all that no matter what, she loved them. Telling them that she didn’t want them to cry at her funeral. Telling them she knew they wouldn’t be sorry when she was gone.
As her favorite song came to a close, she pressed the knife hard to her wrist and slashed. It was the deepest cut she’d ever made. She did the same to her right wrist, though it wasn’t as deep, it still bled heavily.
And she bled and she bled and she bled. As the blood drained out of her into the bathtub, the pain, anger and sorrow she’d felt over the last fifteen years came flowing out with it. Until she was finally at rest. In a bathtub full of her own blood.
She was gone.
***
Her mother came home an hour later. Not long she’d been in from school. Mom, as usual, desperately needed the toilet. She ran up the stairs, asking if anyone was in. When there came no answer or sloshing of bathwater, she walked in.
The sight that met her eyes made the strain almost disappear.
Her daughter lay in the tub, half drenched in blood and her tee-shirt stained with black. The pattern down her face was still wet. Mom’s eyes moved to the open wounds on her daughters wrists.
How could she not see this coming? Her little girl was always rather down and quiet, but she’d never tell her anything about what was going on. She’d brushed it off as school stress, yet she was never a social child and she excelled in all her subjects.
Mom ran over to her baby girl, pulling her into her arms despite the red and black staining her perfectly white work shirt and dark gray work pants.
She refused to believe that her pride and joy was gone. She failed to see how the two other children downstairs had not realized. She couldn’t remember what she’d come up here for in the first place.
The memories came flooding.
The first time she’d seen her baby. Her first words, her first steps, first day at school. SAT’s results, test results. Awards, prizes, school plays, Christmas shows. Mock GCSE results. Everything her daughter had overcome and achieved; it was all lost.
Laying her daughter back, she remembered how beautiful she’d always looked. Pink lips and rosy cheeks, bright blue eyes that always shined. A smile that could melt your heart. The way she wore her hair and her make-up. Her insanely dark dress sense. None of it mattered anymore, because it was over.
She’d left the world for a better place.
***
As the mother broke the news to her two younger children, paramedics handled the body of her eldest and police secured the scene.
The younger sister of the suicide victim was in heavy tears, no traces of the mascara and eyeliner that was once there. All sorts of thoughts ran through her head.
What about all of her big sisters’ friends? They had the right to know. There weren’t that many that she could actually tell in person, as most of them were over the internet, but she could break the news. She knew there would be more suicides because of this.
Her two best friends couldn’t live without her big sister. She was the one who took on their problems with a smile and tried her best to help. Who would be there for them now?
And her ex-girlfriend? No one would cope…
The younger brother, smallest of the three children, was crying too. His oldest sister had been his idol, introducing him to the band he called his favorite to this day. She stuck up for him a lot, and helped him outcast himself from the chavs.
She was going to be sorely missed.
Her father was on his way, hearing the tone in his ex-wives voice that was shaking. At the mention of his eldest daughter, he’d hung up and jumped in the car. She’d been on the edge for a while now.
Something bad must have happened.
********************************************************************************
In the next few months, there were another three reports of suicide. They were linked to each other by one thing.
The first suicide.
Her best friend; her online best friend; her ex-girlfriend. All three of them committed their own suicide afterwards.
They got the chance to attend her funeral. But she couldn’t attend theirs. The schools had memorials and friends cried and laid flowers.
She thought things would be better when she was gone. Unfortunately, she was wrong.
They got worse…
She preferred to dress in the latest band tee-shirt, listen to the more emotional side of rock ‘n’ roll, cut her hair and dye it black. She wore black nail-polish and heavy black eyeliner. If she was seen with these, she was called names and pestered for hours. She soon grew interested in girls as well as boys, resulting in more prejudice.
By the time she was fifteen, she couldn’t take it anymore. She was already cutting to ease the pain, but this cut would be the deepest and most long-lasting. This cut would be her final farewell to the cruel world who gave her shit.
This cut would be her suicidal adieu.
***
Lying in the bathtub in the corner of the bathroom, with the softest tones of the softest songs of her favorite band seeping out of the speakers on her laptop, she let the tears roll down her screwed up features.
The knife in her hand wasn’t the sharpest in the drawer. She couldn’t bring herself to use her mothers favorite ten-inch one, the one which the Christmas Supper turkey was cut each year. It would be too cliché and ironic that she would use something that sharp and treasured. She wasn’t one for tradition, therefore used the less sharp but just as lethal bread-knife.
Fumbling with the keyboard of her laptop, she turned up the music and changed the track to something less sordid but with much more deathly lyrics.
She knew that what she was about to do was exactly what this band was against. Whereas most people she knew decided from the off that cutting and suicide was what they were promoting, she knew otherwise. They were trying to prevent innocent lives being taken by their own will.
But she had to do it.
No one wanted her, she was a waste of space and a freak. In her mind, she wasn’t needed and nobody loved her; she didn’t deserve a life, even if it was one as pain-filled, routine and worthless as hers.
There was hardly any eyeliner left on her lids by now. The mascara and eyeliner was a river down each side of her face, down each cheek. Even her black eye-shadow was smudged. Her make-up dripped down onto her white band tee-shirt, staining it. Usually, she would have been distraught, but it was never going to be worn by her again.
She’d written her suicide note, explaining why. Telling them all that no matter what, she loved them. Telling them that she didn’t want them to cry at her funeral. Telling them she knew they wouldn’t be sorry when she was gone.
As her favorite song came to a close, she pressed the knife hard to her wrist and slashed. It was the deepest cut she’d ever made. She did the same to her right wrist, though it wasn’t as deep, it still bled heavily.
And she bled and she bled and she bled. As the blood drained out of her into the bathtub, the pain, anger and sorrow she’d felt over the last fifteen years came flowing out with it. Until she was finally at rest. In a bathtub full of her own blood.
She was gone.
***
Her mother came home an hour later. Not long she’d been in from school. Mom, as usual, desperately needed the toilet. She ran up the stairs, asking if anyone was in. When there came no answer or sloshing of bathwater, she walked in.
The sight that met her eyes made the strain almost disappear.
Her daughter lay in the tub, half drenched in blood and her tee-shirt stained with black. The pattern down her face was still wet. Mom’s eyes moved to the open wounds on her daughters wrists.
How could she not see this coming? Her little girl was always rather down and quiet, but she’d never tell her anything about what was going on. She’d brushed it off as school stress, yet she was never a social child and she excelled in all her subjects.
Mom ran over to her baby girl, pulling her into her arms despite the red and black staining her perfectly white work shirt and dark gray work pants.
She refused to believe that her pride and joy was gone. She failed to see how the two other children downstairs had not realized. She couldn’t remember what she’d come up here for in the first place.
The memories came flooding.
The first time she’d seen her baby. Her first words, her first steps, first day at school. SAT’s results, test results. Awards, prizes, school plays, Christmas shows. Mock GCSE results. Everything her daughter had overcome and achieved; it was all lost.
Laying her daughter back, she remembered how beautiful she’d always looked. Pink lips and rosy cheeks, bright blue eyes that always shined. A smile that could melt your heart. The way she wore her hair and her make-up. Her insanely dark dress sense. None of it mattered anymore, because it was over.
She’d left the world for a better place.
***
As the mother broke the news to her two younger children, paramedics handled the body of her eldest and police secured the scene.
The younger sister of the suicide victim was in heavy tears, no traces of the mascara and eyeliner that was once there. All sorts of thoughts ran through her head.
What about all of her big sisters’ friends? They had the right to know. There weren’t that many that she could actually tell in person, as most of them were over the internet, but she could break the news. She knew there would be more suicides because of this.
Her two best friends couldn’t live without her big sister. She was the one who took on their problems with a smile and tried her best to help. Who would be there for them now?
And her ex-girlfriend? No one would cope…
The younger brother, smallest of the three children, was crying too. His oldest sister had been his idol, introducing him to the band he called his favorite to this day. She stuck up for him a lot, and helped him outcast himself from the chavs.
She was going to be sorely missed.
Her father was on his way, hearing the tone in his ex-wives voice that was shaking. At the mention of his eldest daughter, he’d hung up and jumped in the car. She’d been on the edge for a while now.
Something bad must have happened.
********************************************************************************
In the next few months, there were another three reports of suicide. They were linked to each other by one thing.
The first suicide.
Her best friend; her online best friend; her ex-girlfriend. All three of them committed their own suicide afterwards.
They got the chance to attend her funeral. But she couldn’t attend theirs. The schools had memorials and friends cried and laid flowers.
She thought things would be better when she was gone. Unfortunately, she was wrong.
They got worse…