Runaway

There is nothing worse than hating yourself. No complement, no smile, no form of positive feedback at all can appease this thing inside you- the thing that tells you of you worthlessness, your inability to make the par, and your differences. That is what kills me.
I am too different.
And if you are too different, then what is the point of living?
I crawled out my window onto the ledge. Onto the roof where I sat, using the shingles as traction. It was a clear day today, and I hated that I had to do this at this hour- while the children laughed and played and the grandmas peeked out of kitchen windows, smiling with pride, while the fathers pushed their children on their bikes, while the mothers ran behind them with the first aid kit.
The sight almost made me smile.
My foot slipped, however, before I could find some happiness and a shocking reality hit me. I am about to kill myself.
I scooted closer and closer to the edge of the roof, until my feet sat on the gutter. The old metal creaked and groaned as if it knew what I was doing. The grass below almost looked as if it would catch me, but I was afraid. The first feeling I have felt in years.
Fear.
And it was gnawing at me like a hungry lion.
I inhaled, trying to bring forth all of my rage. All of it from my years of abuse and my mother’s neglect. Years of hiding like a small animal, sucking into a mental black hole that won’t let me go until I die.
I just want to die.
So I jumped.
There was a moment of piece, of quiet. The air flowed through my hair, through the holes in my jeans, through the seams in my sweater. The air made a whistling noise as it passed my ears. It seemed to take away from all of my issues, this moment of tranquillity was not only for myself, but it was for those around me. My mother, who hates my guts, my father who never loved me, my family who openly disown me.
They are free now.
And so am I.
I don’t remember hitting the ground.
I woke, immediately regretting it. I was still alive, and, judging by the heart rate monitor that sat off to my right, I was nowhere near dead.
I couldn’t feel anything, my body seemed to belong to someone else. I could barely even open my eyes.
“...two broken ribs, a fractured arm, and her jaw is wired shut. I don’t know what your daughter was thinking, but she definitely did some damage to herself.”
“Thanks, doc.” It was my mother’s voice.
The one thing I hadn’t prepared for. Mom.
She sniffed as she opened the door. I watched as she sat off to my left and shook her head.
“I don’t want to know what you were thinking, Kris. Why do you constantly do this?” She paused like she wanted me to answer. I wanted to, but my jaw was wired- I couldn’t say a word. “I mean, I struggle to help you, I scrape up pennies to get you therapy, I rubbed together dimes to get you the newest clothes and shoes and whatever. You are my only child, you an I are supposed to be close. Yet, as the years have passed, I feel that we have done nothing but drift apart. I love you, Kris. I really do.”
A tear rolled down my face. I felt so selfish, so naive. I just wanted to leave, and the real sad thing about it is that I still do. Even with the tears now flowing down my face, I still wanted to be gone.
Then she won’t have to “struggle”. Then she won’t have to rub together any two coins.
If i can just be gone.
“Now that I think about it, I heard of a community field trip for troubled teens. I took the liberty of signing you up. It should help you. I hope it helps you.”
The rubber seat squealed as she stood. She walked up to me, kissing my forehead. “I really hope you know just how much I love you.”