Confessions of a Teenage Suicide

One Shot

As I stand here, staring at my reflection in the murky water, I don't wonder if anyone will miss me. I don't care any more. No one ever understood me anyway. But before I tell you how I died, maybe I should explain why I died. That's not easy in itself, really. And it's definitely not pretty. It never is when you have to do it yourself. I guess what pushed me over the edge is easy enough. I'm a 22-year-old loser. I live at home with my psychotic mother, my job fucking sucks ass, and I just threw away a four-year relationship. The relationship wasn't my fault. I can't help that it went that way. I really tried with that. But oh well. You can't control everything I guess.
This feeling of hopelessness started probably three or four months ago. There was just less and less to stay here for. I had nothing to hold onto. I had originally went back to school to get better things for myself, but it seemed that even that was doomed to fail. I can at least proudly say that I finished. I got my medical diploma, and I even had a job in the field. No, what went wrong with that was how long it took me to get employed. It wasn't that I didn't try; it was my lack of experience. With the ever-growing number of lawsuits, more and more offices insisted on experienced Medical Assistants and Nurses. I went on interview after interview, just to be turned down. I watched employer after employer look at my resume and frown.
Then, while I was looking, I had only worked weekends. I had to give up my weekly hours so that I could make it to my extern site every day. I couldn't get them back because they hired someone to take my place. Needless to say, funds were low. I was able to get one deferment on my car loan, but after that, I had to find the money. My fiancée insisted time and time again that it was my own fault I couldn't find a job. He spent almost every day that we got to see each other reminding me that I was broke, and that now he was too because he had to pay my bills. (He was a co-signer on my car; if I missed it, they were coming after him.) We used to live together, but when I did my externship, he said he couldn't afford to pay the bills any more. Despite the fact that my mom is crazy, and drinks like a fish, I was ready to go home. I didn't need the person I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with reminding me how poor I was. What happened to standing beside people, and lending a hand when they needed it? We got along so well, in fact, that towards the end all we did was argue. I spent more time crying than I did anything else. And it was always something mean to be said when we did talk, that I got to the point where I would just scream at him to shut up or hang up on him, something I never believed in before.
I guess you could say he was the main cause of my stress; but he wasn't the only thing. What kid wants to come home after four years because they can't afford to live alone? I couldn't handle it. It was a constant reminder that I couldn't stand on my own two feet. My mom's priorities were never straight, so being at home wasn't as relaxing as one would think. I had to sleep on the couch, which wasn't so bad, but there was no heat. It was working on Christmas by the time I moved in with her. We were relying on space heaters to do the job, but it wasn't really enough. Then there was the fact that I had to ask people to take showers at their house, as we had no hot water either. I felt like the world's biggest fucking mooch. I guess I should explain that all my life, my mother has always went around with her hands out, asking for help when she didn't need it. She was capable of working herself, but didn't see the need when she could just live on welfare and ask friends for money. It became an obsession to me that I not be like that. I would have a panic attack if I had to ask someone for a dollar, even if I knew I was giving it back the next day. Then we had no phone, no Internet, nothing that normal people had. We barely had food in the house and clothes that fit.
I guess I realize it and can admit it now; there were a lot of things that happened to me when I was younger that turned into what issues I have now. I went through Junior High with one friend, and to this day I can't figure out why she talked to me when everyone else did nothing but make fun of me. And she only went to my school for one year. I always wondered why she talked to me, but I'll never get to ask her; she died when I was in High School. Imagine what a shock it was to wake up one day, sicker then hell, to the words that the girl who taught you to have a backbone is dead. I don't think I ever got over that. Rest in Peace, Suzanna.
Then, going back even father than that, I remember my early childhood. Oh my god. That's all I can say. When I finally started looking at that part of my life for what it was, oh, God, why? We always moved, so I never had too many friends anyway, but that wasn't the worst part. Most people wouldn't take being molested by someone you trust too well. And then not really being old enough to have real idea what's going on. I still have nightmares about it.
I mentioned that my mother's crazy, right? Well, when I was younger, my youngest sister's dad was still with her, and I always wondered what the hell his problem was. To all you people out there, who like ECW, imagine watching it in your own house. I remember once, when he lived on the east side, my sister (who was like, four? Five, maybe) had gotten sick in his other kid's bed. He flipped out and during the fight that ensued, he hit my mother several times with a maglight flashlight. It was one of the biggest ones you can buy. I don't think any sound in the world can compare with that. Then there was the time she put her hand threw the window in his back door because he kicked us out at three a.m. and I had to pee. I can't ever recall seeing so much blood in my life.
My mom was never a bundle of laughs. She's bipolar (even if undiagnosed, I know it for what it is) and had mood swings all the time. It took me a long time to realize that they weren't always my fault. Once, when I was in fourth grade, she asked me to bring her something. Well, I guess I messed up because she kicked me so hard in the stomach, I think I blacked out. I know I had never cried that hard before in my life. Then there was the time when I noticed how much she really drank. I can't even count how many times she woke me up in the middle of the night to lecture me about shit I wasn't even old enough to care about yet. And I bet no one's been accused of being on drugs as many times as I have. I wasn't even interested in that shit until I graduated high school. I was seriously straight edge. I never had friends until high school either because I was embarrassed to introduce people to her. Plus, I never had anything expensive, I didn't own my first pair of name brand shoes until I was in tenth grade. Name brand crap didn't bother me; it was the lack of companionship. I had no one to hang out with but my crazy mom and my youngest sister (who is six years younger than me). I went to schools on the east side until ninth grade, and those kids were not friendly at all. I'll say, my aunt lived in the projects, and I talked to the kids there (who were mostly black) and they all liked me fine. Then I hit sixth grade, and some girl told me that nobody talked to me because I was white. I could not even begin to fathom why that mattered. I knew plenty of black kids who liked me okay. I didn't believe her until junior high. I guess that's when having friends really started to matter to me, and it bothered me that no one talked to me because of something stupid like that. (I want to say right now that I'm not saying all black kids are like that. I'm saying they were.) Then I met the one person I would do anything to kill. Her name was Kimberly, and she gave me head lice. Now, most people would say 'get medicine and get rid of em', right? Of course. Except we were poor as fuck, and my hair was so long I could sit on it. And thick to boot. It took three tries before my mom said we had to cut my hair because it was my fault we couldn't get rid of it. Maybe it was my fault, I can live with that. But I didn't want to cut my hair! I had never had a haircut in my life before, and I didn't want one. Then when I went to school, Kimberly told everyone why I had to cut my hair. Funny, how no one knew but her when I hadn't told anyone. I have never been picked on so bad in my life. You know the Linkin Park video where the girl tries to sit with the kids she goes to school with, but they all get up and leave here there, alone? Add that to the My Chemical Romance video where they're getting food thrown at them. Yeah, that was I, everyday. I always had the empty desks next to me, I sat at an entire lunch table by myself, and people cleared me a path in the hallway. I can say the only two bright points in junior high were me accidentally have gym with another class one day and the end of eighth grade. I met my future best friends in gym. One's name was Natasha and she had a best friend named Doris. We didn't talk much then, maybe a 'hi' here and there when we saw each other in the hallway, but that's okay. It's a small world after all. Towards the end of eighth grade, a girl named Johanna moved onto my street and went to my school. She liked me, and she was like my bodyguard for a little while. Then she met Suzanna and Soledad. Suzanna took a weird interest in me, and she never let people make fun of me. She made me stand up for myself, and it really is because of her that I ever learned to open my fat mouth. (It's probably also her fault that I was such a loud, obnoxious freshman.) She, Soledad and Johanna were my first real friends. I was amazed that she still spoke to me, even though her cousin (who's name escapes me right now) and Soledad's cousin did nothing but make fun of them for talking to me. I never forgot that they dealt with all that to be my friend. Johanna also had a dad who was kind of like my mother, and I remember one morning us almost being late to catch the bus because he was lecturing us about God knows what. I think that morning was the morning she stole his St. Ides, however, and we got drunk on the way to school. It was weird. Hmmm...Late to catch the bus... reminds me of the time I got jumped after school because I actually told the bully to kiss my ass. I don't know what the hell I was thinking, but she had finally pissed me off. This was in middle school, sixth grade, I think, and before Suzanna's time. First time I ever had a black eye, and it wouldn't be the last, though it was the last time it was ever from a fight that wasn't with my mother. High school may have brought friends, but it came at a price. My mother got harder into her drinking habit, and almost every Monday brought another story about my drunken mother.
I did mention Natasha, though, and I'll explain how we met (again). I worked as an aide in the library, and when I got beat up (for the last time) I failed English. (Gasp. I was a hardcore writer by this time, and English was a class I could pass while sleeping.) I got sent back to study hall, and who was there but Tasha. I chose a seat by her, and the rest is history. We just talked a bit here and there, but one day I stole a can of chocolate frosting from a boy I hated and we made public asses of ourselves. We ate the whole thing in less than twenty minutes, and then I discovered the art of being amusing to make friends. I did the Will Smith dance, (I think it was 'Gettin' Jiggy With it' at the time) and sang some Hanson. Yeah, I was a Hanson fan. Fear not, boys and girls, I am saved before it's all over.
I never had so much fun in my life. Tasha and I lived at each other’s houses, and each could recite the other's phone number in our sleep. She didn't care if my mom was crazy, and I ignored the fact that her mother was sick. (I didn't know until the end of freshman year that she had MS) I also had something else I thought I would never have. A boyfriend. I won't say I was uber fat in junior high, but I wore boys’ pants (easily) because buying girls sizes was embarrassing. When I hit ninth grade, however, puberty kicked in, and I dropped weight at an alarming rate. I went from a 36 in men's at the start of the year, to a size three in women's by the next May. I was actually attractive. (Or so Kevin said) Anyway, yes, his name was Kevin, and he was the weirdest boy I had met so far. Guys had expressed an interest in me, but I ignored them, figuring that they were making fun of me, as usual. I never thought they were actually telling the truth. Then I met Kevin. He was the younger brother of a boy named Chris I'd known through a girl named Penny. Penny had been what you could call a friend, but she was older than me and we never went to school together. We only hung out once every three or four months. I don't even remember how we met. Anyway, so I was walking home with Chris and he introduced me to Kevin. I have never been as close to a guy as I was to him. He would have done anything for me. We were freshmen, but there were seniors who wished they could have been like Kevin and I were. He walked me home that day, risking getting in trouble for missing curfew. (Which I didn't find out till three days later) He sat on my porch and we talked until it was late; it was well past dark when he left. The next day he conned someone I knew into giving him my schedule, and he met me after every one of my classes to carry my books. I won't lie; he freaked me out a bit. I never knew guys acted like that; I thought they were all assholes. (The guys I had gone to school with up until this point had rubbed it in my face I was ugly, they never let me forget.) It was sealed after that; he never actually asked me out, but everyone said we were going out and we never corrected them.
So, I had friends and a boyfriend. I only still talk to a few people from high school; Gina, (who I met through Tasha) Amanda, Miriam, and I've run into a few others. Myspace is good for the people I want to talk to but went to the military. I also learned how to hide things from people in high school. Very few people knew what it was really like at my house; Amanda, Tasha and Gina would be three of them. When I hit tenth grade, my mom went into overdrive on the drinking. We fought almost every night because she would scream at me for no reason, or a very stupid reason. One of the main reasons we fought was her desire to stay up until four a.m. when I had to go to school. She would play her radio as loud as it would go and throw shit around when she got angry. I just got to the point where I was tired of dealing with it. I still remember the Easter Holiday that she bit me because I told her she couldn't drink anymore. It was the beginning of the next school year by the time that mark went away.
Tenth grade also sucked because Kevin went away. He lived with his cousin because his mother couldn't take care of him, and his cousin hated him. Her kids always started fights with him, and one night, after a huge fight, his cousin had him hauled off to Juvy. I didn't think I could live without him. He was the type who carried my books, held doors, offered to do my chores for me. Once, when he made a mistake and I broke up with him, he bought me a beanbag tigger and left it on my doorstep. He seriously rang my doorbell and left it there, no note or anything. I was devastated. I cried almost every day after that; I missed him so bad it was scary. I dated after him, but it wasn't even worth it. No one stacked up to my expectations (in my mind I needed someone who was like Kevin, and there was no one like that at all) so it usually only lasted a few weeks before I broke it off. It took me a good year and a half to get over him, and I seriously whished I was still grieving him. Maybe the last two years of high school would have been different. Despite the fact that I could be quite mean now, I had a hard time saying no to people. I met this guy in eleventh grade named Fred, and I really wish that my previous attempt on my own life had worked. After Kevin left, I thought I had it bad, and I took to cutting myself for a long time. No one knew I did that, not even Tasha. Anyway, in eleventh grade I went on a pity date with Fred and sealed my own doom. He seriously made me feel bad for not giving him a chance, and I was a sucker and said okay. After that I really wished I was dead. Almost every day for a good year. The first year was okay, I won't lie, but then I realized what was really going on, and there was nothing I could do about it. Aside from the fact that he was a huge manwhore and slept with almost every girl he ever met while we were going out, he guilt tripped me a lot. It was funny, how I had no problem sticking up for other people, how I could tell my mother where to go any day of the week, but I couldn't stand up to him. He begged me into cutting school with him a lot and I know I was stupid for going along with it, but in the end I was the one who paid for my mistakes.
One time in particular, he bothered me until I agreed to leave school to go to his friend’s house with him. God, how I wished I had learned to ignore him by then. We were there, and I should have known when his friend offered Fred the use of his shower that I should have left and took my chances with the cops. It was common knowledge that Fred's mom was always kicking him out of her house (though I never knew why) and so he spent a lot of time at Donald's house. Anyway, Fred begged me to go with him. I must have said no once a second, every two seconds for a good hour. I would have left, but I was so scared of my mom finding out I cut school that I figured I could make it with him bothering me. I had said no to drugs and god knows what else for ages, he was nothing new. Finally, though, as I'm sure you can guess, I gave in. Biggest fucking mistake of my life. Let's just say it wasn't pretty. I tried to change my mind in the end; that made it worse. You know what I said about all that blood when my mom put her hand through that window? I lied. There was such a mess in the tub by the time he let me go, I was trying to throw up from the sight of it. I did take my chances with the cops after that. I don't even remember going home; I just remember ignoring him at school. My friends hated him by this time (smart, they were) and had no problem telling him to fuck off, even if they didn't know why. (You are the first person to know, I never told anyone.) In the end, I had to go to live with my Aunt (who had long since moved to Brook Park) to get away from him because he took to stalking me when I tried to break up with him. It was when I was trying to leave him that I found out about all the other girls. I don't think I have ever felt so stupid in my entire life; before I finally broke up with him, he continued to rape me every time we were alone. I didn't think of it as that at first; but when you tell someone no, and they do it anyway.... well, you can figure it out. I tried then to kill myself, but at this point I had a few friends I knew would have cried for me, and in the end I couldn't do it. But I did succeed in leaving him.
I guess it wasn't until recently that I really admitted to myself that all these things bothered me. I went through a bit of depression in high school, but I had such a good front (I thought, anyway) that I couldn't stop acting like people or myself would know. (I was quite the loud, kind of obnoxious person. I always had a joke and was always talking about my stories.) I started to realize that these things didn't happen to normal people and that I had to come to terms at some point with all of these things. I just...blocked it out. Acted like it never happened. And then all this started happening...
I never thought of myself as someone who suffered from depression. I took everything that was dealt to me, and I moved on. I had taken all this and more, and went on with my life as I always did. The last blow high school had to deal me was finding out who my dad was. For the first sixteen to seventeen years of my life, I didn't know. I didn't really care to know. My mom always said that she would tell me when I was ready. I never thought too much about it, loads of kids didn't have dads, right? I never considered that he didn't know either. But he didn't. All the times I saw him, and he had no idea who I was to him. After I learned that he didn't know, it bothered me. And then I found out who he was, and it bothered me even more. I was okay with just having my mom, but I always wondered what it would be like to have two parents. Maybe we wouldn't have been so poor, or I would have made better choices, I dunno. All I know is that in my senior year, it finally bothered me that all my friends had dads coming to graduation, and I didn't. My uncle had served as a bit of a father figure when we were younger, but it wasn't the same. Before I graduated, however, my mother got an envelope of pictures from my Aunt (who wasn't really my blood relative, just my mom's best friend since they were newborns). They all had him in them, and some of them even had us together. I don't think I handled it well; I still don't look at them much.
After graduation, though, things looked up. I had a job, I was out of school, and I was free. After two years of loathing getting out of bed, I was free. I had the best summer of my life. Senior year I made a friend, Natalie, and I was only as close to her as I had been to Tasha. Thisclose. Towards the end of the summer, I went to hang out with her, and found out that she hung out with Justin, a kid I had known since I was ten. We never hung out in high school, but we did share the same homeroom (and one of my friends had been obsessed with him) so we had talked a little. We started going out, and now, again, I wish we hadn't. I won't even lie and say it started out great. None of our friends hung out with each other, and he was used to being allowed to do whatever he wanted. I won't say I kept a leash on him (at the beginning anyway), but he got bent out of shape if I asked him to hang out when he was hanging out with one of his friends. Ahhh, how it all went downhill from there.
I should have realized how emotionally dependant I was then, but I didn't realize it until I started to come to terms with all the stuff I could no longer run from. I also should have realized that he too was a dirty man whore, but God, was I blind to some guys. We went through a lot. He learned how to have a relationship (not a fling) and I learned to bite my tongue. I'd gotten overly nosey form dating Fred, and my sense of judgment got all kinds of fucked up. He just didn't give a shit. I always told him what I would do if I found out he cheated on me, and I never really had intentions of keeping my promise until I did find out. Three months in, he slept with some girl who was friends with a guy he knew. I didn't find out until a year later. God, did the shit hit the fan. I never really considered sleeping with his best friend at the time; his current best friend was a serious asshole. Some time later, however, when I was working two jobs to keep myself afloat (I had moved in with him a year after we started going out) we never saw each other. He slept all the time, and he only went out when I wasn't home. I was never allowed to know whom he was with, or where he was, I should have suspected something then, but the perfect opportunity came along, and I couldn't pass it up. He had taken to hanging out with a kid named John (who I also knew from high school) and who was very hot. (Until I saw his true colors, anyway.) And he had a cute girlfriend. I won't say she was hot, but she was cool to hang out with, which made her pretty. (And she had nice, soft boobies.) I never dated the hottest guys in school (as if I could have got them anyway) but character was a big deal to me, and it was the same with the girls I liked. I realized when we started hanging out with them that I really did like girls, and bad stuff just snowballed from there.
Once, when Justin was camping, John, Jen and I got smashed and I saw my opportunity. I did a very stupid girl thing. We were going thought such a rough time, I wondered if he would even be upset if I slept with John. And Jen, actually. The whole thing was that I wanted to sleep with her, and if I had to do him too, so be it. We had rolled with John and Jen before, and I had been working on convincing her that sleeping with a girl wasn't such a bad idea. Anyway, we all got smashed and it just happened. We had gone to the store to buy something, and there was a Maxim magazine with Tatu on the cover. We were talking about how hot they were and things just kind of moved along from there. I didn't tell him just then what had happened. They were good drug/drinking buddies. By then, we were rolling and tripping with them a lot, and when we weren't doing that, we drank. Anyway, at one point, Justin and I were arguing that a guy eating a girl out wasn't cheating. (I think it is. Who doesn't except a guilty guy anyway? Or the slutty girl who's letting him do it.) Well, I threw it in his face and things have never been the same. Justin and I recovered after a three-day split. It's been a hard road since then. I think we both learned a lot, and I thought he finally realized that he would miss me if I was gone. That's my biggest problem. I need to be important to someone; I need to know someone needs me. I don't think now, looking back, that he ever needed me. Even now, I don't think he does...
We did make it four years now. Been engaged for a year. But as time passes, I start to think more and more that we'll never get married. And now, after all the fighting we've been thought lately, I cry because I don't think I want to. When I was younger, when I was getting picked on, my only refuge was writing. I've been a writer since seventh grade. When I got into high school I did a lot of fanfics to help me deal with what I was going through. It was like my release. Now...I can't survive a day unless I spend half of it daydreaming. I'm so depressed all the time, that if I don't go somewhere else, I'll spend the day crying. It's getting dangerous, I think. I'm sure it's not healthy to daydream like I do, for as long as I do. I've spent so long suppressing all the things that were wrong with me, hiding form the truth about everything, that now that it's out, I can't handle it. And I don't have anywhere to go. Before, Gina used to help me through it, though she doesn't know it. Just getting away to her house for a few hours every week was like a mini vacation. Someone who had my interests (Justin and I have nothing in common, now that I think about it) someone I could talk to with out feeling like a reject...she has no idea what kind of friend she really is to me. I'm more glad that I met her than any of my other friends I made in school. But I don't even tell her everything, and I've just started admitting to her all that's wrong. I don't want to freak her out, but I think she sees how unhealthy I am. For a while there, drinking was my means of release. It's come to the point where I couldn't relax when I came home unless I had a drink. I think I can drink more than half the people I know. I was just so depressed and stressed out that I needed to forget about it. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat (which is saying something for me. The only think I do more than drink is eat.) I couldn't even write a good story. I drank and lost myself in my gamecube, or just daydreaming. I never wanted to come back to reality. Justin and I fought so much about everything; finances, seeing each other...everything. And everything is my fault now. I feel like I have the world on my back; I'm accountable for everything, and I have no release now. It's over, and I can't do it anymore. I feel backed into a corner now, like I have no where to run, no one to turn to. I don't want to discuss my problems with anyone; I feel like I'd just be complaining. Not to mention I don't think I'd be able to talk about it anyway. I think I could have made it if I had one happy thing to focus on; something I knew I could look forward to, that I could work for. There's a song by My Chemical Romance called Headfirst for Halos. A part of it goes; 'And as the fragments of my skull begin to fall, fall on your tongue like pixie dust, just think happy thoughts...' I really think I might have made it if I had something happy to think about...
So here I am, staring into the murky, cold water of Lake Erie, wondering how long this will take. I always was afraid of dieing. Especially by suffocation (I didn't learn to swim until junior year. I constantly had nightmares about drowning). I did, however, make it a little easier on myself. Hopefully by the time I'm ready to fall in, all the pills I swallowed will be kicking in, and the marks I made on my arms with have bled enough. Maybe I won't feel it much by that time. Maybe.