The Wrong Way
It
Family members around me died of various illnesses. Some of cancer, heart diseases, diabetes, and of almost every fatal illness under the rainbow. The only ones left from our family are my parents and I. I know I have to have something. I watch everything about my health because I'm paranoid. I don't want to die like that. I would rather die of old age or an accident than of a disease I can prevent. Paranoia is what I have, and nothing more.
I obsess about every thing I eat and do. I exercise an hour a day, eat a healthy diet with no junk food, and get frequent check-ups. My doctor has told me over and over that I have one of the healthiest bodies that he has ever seen, but I cant help but think that something will change one day and I'll fall victim to my own body.
I still felt the overwhelming need to be sure I didn't have anything. If I didn't feel perfect, I would freak out for an hour or two until I had to just try everything in my power to get rd of whatever new problem I had found. I didn't worry about schoolwork ever. I thought that I would die prematurely anyway so it didn't matter, any work I did would be meaningless if I wasn't there to use what I had learned to my advantage. The only class I ever really paid attention to was anatomy and physiology. I was able to learn about my body and to take even better care of it. I was able to stop myself from dyeing meaninglessly.
The years of paranoia are stressful though. I have very few friends since most people think that I am crazy for caring about myself so much. I need a way out of the fear, but I never found one until the guidance counselor came to give a lecture about suicide. I never thought about killing myself, but as I thought more and more, the better it looked. I would never succumb to a fatal illness. I would be able to choose a way to die. It seemed like the perfect way out.
I decided, trough some research, that over dosing on some meds would be the easiest and least painful. Also, it would look like an accident so my parents wouldn't think that I hated the world. It seemed perfect. The web sites mentioned some ill effects, but none that would stop me from going through with my plan. I was now determined, and almost ready to die. In the back of my head were some small doubts, but those things were nothing compared to the feeling of not dying that way.
I found a full bottle of pain killers in the medicine cabinet. It took about 5 minutes to take the whole bottle. Nothing really happened for a minute, until this pain came over me that was the worst thing that I had ever felt. My insides felt like they were being tortured into a frenzy and racing closer to death. After what felt like an eternity of damnation, the pain was lifted away. For one second, I was I complete bliss until I opened my eyes.
I was in an emergency room, floating above the scene. My parents were there, crying. EMT's were trying to bring my body back to life, but my body, that looked like I was in a peaceful sleep, never once even responded to the electric shocks being run through it's core. The head doctor declared that I was gone, and not coming back. My mom fell to her knees weeping, my dad silently crying. I would have cried to, but it almost was like I couldn't be affected by it, like I was watching an uninteresting movie.
I couldn't touch anything, but attempted to touch my lifeless body. I could almost feel a chill running over it as death turned the sleeping, peaceful expression on my body's face into one of death. As time moved along, I followed my parents home, sitting in the back of their car. My mom looked at the backseat a few times, almost as if she could see me, and she would cry again. I would have started to cry, but nothing could yet affect me. I was still watching a movie, but as time moved forward, I became attached to it. I slowly began to have the correct responses to the emotional events around me. I started to hate and regret my decision, but it was to late to go back now.
Now I'm a ghost. I realize now that it wasn't my time, and I'm not ready to let go. I read my obituary from the paper my parents left out. It said I died because of hypochondria. It doesn't make any sense though. I killed myself to prevent myself from dying from a disease, not to become a statistic. It looks like I failed after all.
I obsess about every thing I eat and do. I exercise an hour a day, eat a healthy diet with no junk food, and get frequent check-ups. My doctor has told me over and over that I have one of the healthiest bodies that he has ever seen, but I cant help but think that something will change one day and I'll fall victim to my own body.
I still felt the overwhelming need to be sure I didn't have anything. If I didn't feel perfect, I would freak out for an hour or two until I had to just try everything in my power to get rd of whatever new problem I had found. I didn't worry about schoolwork ever. I thought that I would die prematurely anyway so it didn't matter, any work I did would be meaningless if I wasn't there to use what I had learned to my advantage. The only class I ever really paid attention to was anatomy and physiology. I was able to learn about my body and to take even better care of it. I was able to stop myself from dyeing meaninglessly.
The years of paranoia are stressful though. I have very few friends since most people think that I am crazy for caring about myself so much. I need a way out of the fear, but I never found one until the guidance counselor came to give a lecture about suicide. I never thought about killing myself, but as I thought more and more, the better it looked. I would never succumb to a fatal illness. I would be able to choose a way to die. It seemed like the perfect way out.
I decided, trough some research, that over dosing on some meds would be the easiest and least painful. Also, it would look like an accident so my parents wouldn't think that I hated the world. It seemed perfect. The web sites mentioned some ill effects, but none that would stop me from going through with my plan. I was now determined, and almost ready to die. In the back of my head were some small doubts, but those things were nothing compared to the feeling of not dying that way.
I found a full bottle of pain killers in the medicine cabinet. It took about 5 minutes to take the whole bottle. Nothing really happened for a minute, until this pain came over me that was the worst thing that I had ever felt. My insides felt like they were being tortured into a frenzy and racing closer to death. After what felt like an eternity of damnation, the pain was lifted away. For one second, I was I complete bliss until I opened my eyes.
I was in an emergency room, floating above the scene. My parents were there, crying. EMT's were trying to bring my body back to life, but my body, that looked like I was in a peaceful sleep, never once even responded to the electric shocks being run through it's core. The head doctor declared that I was gone, and not coming back. My mom fell to her knees weeping, my dad silently crying. I would have cried to, but it almost was like I couldn't be affected by it, like I was watching an uninteresting movie.
I couldn't touch anything, but attempted to touch my lifeless body. I could almost feel a chill running over it as death turned the sleeping, peaceful expression on my body's face into one of death. As time moved along, I followed my parents home, sitting in the back of their car. My mom looked at the backseat a few times, almost as if she could see me, and she would cry again. I would have started to cry, but nothing could yet affect me. I was still watching a movie, but as time moved forward, I became attached to it. I slowly began to have the correct responses to the emotional events around me. I started to hate and regret my decision, but it was to late to go back now.
Now I'm a ghost. I realize now that it wasn't my time, and I'm not ready to let go. I read my obituary from the paper my parents left out. It said I died because of hypochondria. It doesn't make any sense though. I killed myself to prevent myself from dying from a disease, not to become a statistic. It looks like I failed after all.