The Saints Of Mibba
Frayer.
I can still remember the day I found out my Mom was pregnant with my sister. She was laid in bed with my step dad and I was bouncing on the mattress. I can’t remember how it came about, but I remember the explosion of happiness that spread through my tiny seven-year-old body at the news.
It was such a good year, Mommy was pregnant, we went back to Malta again and we had a huge street party, for my relatives. Everything was going just peachy in my books. Had I known that by December my world would have fallen apart completely, I would have done something, ran away, anything to avoid the impending horror.
December 12th, 1999, I was sat in the car, on the way back from the hospital; I was trying my best to let my body flop onto the seat, like babies could do. That day, I lost my sister. 9 months since my Mom fell pregnant, she lost her little girl. She has told me since, that she knew something was wrong, but the Doctors ignored every plea for help she made. It makes me sick to the stomach to think that their lack of judgment lead to my sisters grave.
I’ve held this with me for the last 6 years now. I didn’t cry a single tear for months after my sister died. I guess I didn’t really understand it at all, I was too confused to cry. My parents cried, they cried long and hard all the time. Baby clothes lay discarded around our apartment; we were all too scared to dispose of them. None of us could move on.
Eventually, I cried, I bawled for hours and hours, with the realization of the situation: I was never going to have my little sister to play with, to dress up, to put make up on. We moved house that year and spent far too much money on Christmas. None of this could compensate for the loss of a sibling, however. As time slowly slipped by, though, she began to slip from our minds, we would cry less and we would smile more. I thought I was finally regaining my life; that I would no longer have to explain why I cried all the time.
6 years on, my true emotions have finally come out. I’m being treated for suicidal depression and it is believed Frayer’s death may be the root of my problems. I can’t greet any day with a happy heart, even the scenes that used to make my heart melt, only slightly thaw the ice surrounding my vital organ. I’ve tried to kill myself more times than I can count, each time failing, from a halfhearted attempt. My wrists and thighs are a mess of cuts, scabs and scars, purple railway lines, crisscrossing like a spiders web. I exclude myself from the world, hiding behind a novel, or a pen.
Believe me when I say this, I’m not a hero; I’m not a saint. For it is a sin to wish one’s life away. I wish I could finish this by saying ‘then My Chemical Romance saved my life’ but I can’t. To this day I find each morning harder to over come. To fight the despair that riddles my body. I want to throw myself off every building and swallow every pill. My Mom saves me, though; I can’t let both her daughters die. So to everyone out there, you can carry on, find something, anything, to cling to. I know I am entirely hypocritical for saying this, but there is another way out. I just hope I can find it soon.
It was such a good year, Mommy was pregnant, we went back to Malta again and we had a huge street party, for my relatives. Everything was going just peachy in my books. Had I known that by December my world would have fallen apart completely, I would have done something, ran away, anything to avoid the impending horror.
December 12th, 1999, I was sat in the car, on the way back from the hospital; I was trying my best to let my body flop onto the seat, like babies could do. That day, I lost my sister. 9 months since my Mom fell pregnant, she lost her little girl. She has told me since, that she knew something was wrong, but the Doctors ignored every plea for help she made. It makes me sick to the stomach to think that their lack of judgment lead to my sisters grave.
I’ve held this with me for the last 6 years now. I didn’t cry a single tear for months after my sister died. I guess I didn’t really understand it at all, I was too confused to cry. My parents cried, they cried long and hard all the time. Baby clothes lay discarded around our apartment; we were all too scared to dispose of them. None of us could move on.
Eventually, I cried, I bawled for hours and hours, with the realization of the situation: I was never going to have my little sister to play with, to dress up, to put make up on. We moved house that year and spent far too much money on Christmas. None of this could compensate for the loss of a sibling, however. As time slowly slipped by, though, she began to slip from our minds, we would cry less and we would smile more. I thought I was finally regaining my life; that I would no longer have to explain why I cried all the time.
6 years on, my true emotions have finally come out. I’m being treated for suicidal depression and it is believed Frayer’s death may be the root of my problems. I can’t greet any day with a happy heart, even the scenes that used to make my heart melt, only slightly thaw the ice surrounding my vital organ. I’ve tried to kill myself more times than I can count, each time failing, from a halfhearted attempt. My wrists and thighs are a mess of cuts, scabs and scars, purple railway lines, crisscrossing like a spiders web. I exclude myself from the world, hiding behind a novel, or a pen.
Believe me when I say this, I’m not a hero; I’m not a saint. For it is a sin to wish one’s life away. I wish I could finish this by saying ‘then My Chemical Romance saved my life’ but I can’t. To this day I find each morning harder to over come. To fight the despair that riddles my body. I want to throw myself off every building and swallow every pill. My Mom saves me, though; I can’t let both her daughters die. So to everyone out there, you can carry on, find something, anything, to cling to. I know I am entirely hypocritical for saying this, but there is another way out. I just hope I can find it soon.
♠ ♠ ♠
by borndead.