We'll Sing This Symphony of Sympathy

I took a sharp intake of breath as I dug the razor into my skin. I took a peek at my forearm and saw the thin line of crimson. Just a little deeper. Just enough to make the pain go away.

The evidence of my failure was now freely dripping down my arm. I picked up a tissue and wiped off the excess. But I didn't push on the wound, didn't blot it. It would heal on it's own time. I deserve this.

It was my fault he did what he did. He was so sick of my fucking everything up. I cringed and took a swig from the bottle in front of me. It burned down my throat and into my empty stomach. The burn was good. The pain means I'm still alive.

Before I could think about it, my hand had grabbed the little canister and poured myself my dinner. Valium. Warning: do not take this with alcohol. I swallowed the pills greedily and chased them with my favorite crystal liquid. The warning meant nothing, only a tease. It laughed at my living state. I threw the container on the ground and watched my friends spill out. I hated how they taunted me.

As I looked down, my eyes fell onto my damaged arm. Blue-ish white skin with a crisscrossing mess of lines ranging from purple to fresh red. My newest fit of self-destruction had already begun to form a scab. I picked at it absently while I let my mind wander, waiting for my drugs to kick in.

It wasn't always like this. I try not to think of the old days. When things were bright, sunny, warm. Happy. The contrast to now is that of a Tim Burton movie. Everything I see is grey, all the colors faded into nothingness. I see Oliver's face as he feels sorry for me. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. I can see the disgust in his eyes.

He deserves better than this. He deserves the life that I'm stealing from him. I feel immense guilt at the thought of him putting everything on hold for me. He's wasting his time on someone not worth saving. I compare myself to a leech. Take, take, take, and take some more. Never giving anything back. I am taking this boy's life away from him.

I take another swig. It takes so much for the blackness to come now. I think, what am I doing? I feel dead inside, yet I continue to breathe. I am merely prolonging a life not worth living. I am a waste of oxygen, of space, of time. I do not deserve to exist. He made the choice I am now too scared to. The decision I cannot make. The thought that always echos in my mind.

Scared of what? I'm not leaving anyone behind. Oliver will be grateful. I'm convinced there is nothing after the grave, no great unknown to worry about. Maybe my decaying remains will join with the soil, maybe somehow I'll come back as a flower. Something pretty and useless that brings joy. I think a weed would be more fitting

A realization hits me. What have I been waiting so long for? A calm washes over me. I don't know whether it's from my vices or this thing. Either way, it's a relief. This is not just an idea. This is not just a thought. This is fact. This is going to happen. My mind is set.

For the first time in ages, I feel a smile. Or something thats shells of people consider a smile. I suppose humans might consider it a grimace. I feel indescribably calm. I have nothing to fear. I have nothing to lose. I can feel the blackness imaging closer and I'm ready for it. I close my eyes. There's nothing else I can do.