Stop the Pain
1
Numb. That was the only word in her mind and, well, in the dictionary that could be used to describe was she was feeling. Carmen (only 21) was done: she was done with the world, she was done with the pain searing through her heart every night.
She laid curled up on her bed, unable to move. For the third day in a row, it was a struggle for her to even get up to go the bathroom, as she remembered from yesterday morning:
Carmen woke up from an restless sleep, her body covered in sweat and her mind in a fog.
A fog that clouded her brain so much, she couldn’t even get a glimpse of what was going on inside her head.
‘Alright, swing your leg over the bed and place your foot on the floor. Good, we have a start’.
Lately, telling herself how to move and what body parts to move had become one of the most vivid signs of her deepening depression. She couldn’t rise out of bed most mornings without her mind reminding her body how to move.
‘Put your left foot out in front of you…and now your right foot. Left foot….right foot. Just keep doing that same pattern. Oh, I have to pee again? Didn’t I just go to the bathroom a few minutes ago? Ugh, I can’t do anything right.’
This was Carmen’s daily battle.
Over the last year, more and more was Carmen isolating herself from her family and friends. It used to be that she saw them every day. Gradually, it turned into only seeing them once a week, then once a month and now the most contact she got with them was a phone call once every other day.
This used to be devastating to Carmen but now it didn’t matter. She was so apathetic to everything going on around her. The only thing that truly mattered to her was stopping the pain, the agony she’d felt over all these years.
How had all of this started? How had this previously bright, charming, happy girl turn into this lonely, disheartened woman?
The first blow in her life had come when she turned 5: her mother died.
Four years later, when she was 9: her brother was killed in Iraq.
Five years later, at the age of 13: she came out to her family, friends, and school that she was gay.
Two years later, at the age of 15: she and her girlfriend of a year, Daisy, broke up.
Three years later, at the age of 18: she was raped, got pregnant, and had a miscarriage.
It was around that same time that friends noticed a change in Carmen. She smiled less. When she would hang out with her buddies, she wasn’t loud or vibrant. She would stare off into space and not until her name was called 4 times would she respond.
At first, no one thought anything of it. After all, she had been through a traumatic experience and they just assumed it was her way of coping. They figured she’d get help and return to the happy state they were used too.
Instead, the exact opposite happened.
Five months after the rape was when Carmen self-harmed for the first time. She slit her wrist nine times.
Nine months after that, Carmen attempted suicide for the first time by trying to overdoes on drugs. Luckily, her ex-girlfriend-turned-best-friend, Daisy, found her and got help in time.
When Carmen turned 20, she started the process of distancing herself from her friends and her dotting father, whom she’d been so close to her whole life.
Which leads to this moment in time in the bedroom where Carmen is curled up.
She had no tears in her eyes, no make-up running down her face, nothing. Just a cold, dead look in her eyes and a jaw clenched so tightly her teeth could break any minute.
She knew what she had to do. It had to been done. The others would soon forget her, in time. They always did.
She swung one foot over the bed, stopped for a minute, swung the other foot over the bed, stopped for a minute, pushed herself up, stopped for a minute, grabbed the handle of her dresser drawer, stopped for a minute, opened it, and pulled out a knife, a pen, and a note pad.
Carmen knew about suicide notes. This wasn’t going to be her first. She’d written one before when she had tried and failed to overdoes on drugs. It was more of an apology letter than anything.
With trembling hands but a stone face, Carmen picked up the pen, flipped the notepad open and, in the most blurred and nearly-impossible-to-read hand writing, scribbled out her note.
I’m leaving. I have to. I can’t stay here anymore. The pain is too much.
To all of the bullies I’ve faced: I hope you’re happy to you drove someone to their death.
To my father: Daddy. I love you. And I’m sorry.
To all my friends: don’t grieve me for too long. Go out and live your life as you know I’d want you to do.
21 years is too short of a life in some people’s minds, but in mine, it was too long.
Goodbye, cruel world.
Carmen put down the pen, pushed the notepad across the bed so that whoever found her would see that first before her body, and picked up the knife.
Even in her last moments, Carmen still felt some guilt for leaving behind friends and her beloved father. But, that only lasted for an instant before the numbness, the pain, slammed into her like a brick and she remembered why she had to do this.
She took one last deep breath, placed the knife to her throat, closed her eyes, and yanked her hand in a slashing motion over her jugular vein.
Carmen collapsed back onto the bed, spread her arms out eagle style, and died.
She laid curled up on her bed, unable to move. For the third day in a row, it was a struggle for her to even get up to go the bathroom, as she remembered from yesterday morning:
Carmen woke up from an restless sleep, her body covered in sweat and her mind in a fog.
A fog that clouded her brain so much, she couldn’t even get a glimpse of what was going on inside her head.
‘Alright, swing your leg over the bed and place your foot on the floor. Good, we have a start’.
Lately, telling herself how to move and what body parts to move had become one of the most vivid signs of her deepening depression. She couldn’t rise out of bed most mornings without her mind reminding her body how to move.
‘Put your left foot out in front of you…and now your right foot. Left foot….right foot. Just keep doing that same pattern. Oh, I have to pee again? Didn’t I just go to the bathroom a few minutes ago? Ugh, I can’t do anything right.’
This was Carmen’s daily battle.
Over the last year, more and more was Carmen isolating herself from her family and friends. It used to be that she saw them every day. Gradually, it turned into only seeing them once a week, then once a month and now the most contact she got with them was a phone call once every other day.
This used to be devastating to Carmen but now it didn’t matter. She was so apathetic to everything going on around her. The only thing that truly mattered to her was stopping the pain, the agony she’d felt over all these years.
How had all of this started? How had this previously bright, charming, happy girl turn into this lonely, disheartened woman?
The first blow in her life had come when she turned 5: her mother died.
Four years later, when she was 9: her brother was killed in Iraq.
Five years later, at the age of 13: she came out to her family, friends, and school that she was gay.
Two years later, at the age of 15: she and her girlfriend of a year, Daisy, broke up.
Three years later, at the age of 18: she was raped, got pregnant, and had a miscarriage.
It was around that same time that friends noticed a change in Carmen. She smiled less. When she would hang out with her buddies, she wasn’t loud or vibrant. She would stare off into space and not until her name was called 4 times would she respond.
At first, no one thought anything of it. After all, she had been through a traumatic experience and they just assumed it was her way of coping. They figured she’d get help and return to the happy state they were used too.
Instead, the exact opposite happened.
Five months after the rape was when Carmen self-harmed for the first time. She slit her wrist nine times.
Nine months after that, Carmen attempted suicide for the first time by trying to overdoes on drugs. Luckily, her ex-girlfriend-turned-best-friend, Daisy, found her and got help in time.
When Carmen turned 20, she started the process of distancing herself from her friends and her dotting father, whom she’d been so close to her whole life.
Which leads to this moment in time in the bedroom where Carmen is curled up.
She had no tears in her eyes, no make-up running down her face, nothing. Just a cold, dead look in her eyes and a jaw clenched so tightly her teeth could break any minute.
She knew what she had to do. It had to been done. The others would soon forget her, in time. They always did.
She swung one foot over the bed, stopped for a minute, swung the other foot over the bed, stopped for a minute, pushed herself up, stopped for a minute, grabbed the handle of her dresser drawer, stopped for a minute, opened it, and pulled out a knife, a pen, and a note pad.
Carmen knew about suicide notes. This wasn’t going to be her first. She’d written one before when she had tried and failed to overdoes on drugs. It was more of an apology letter than anything.
With trembling hands but a stone face, Carmen picked up the pen, flipped the notepad open and, in the most blurred and nearly-impossible-to-read hand writing, scribbled out her note.
I’m leaving. I have to. I can’t stay here anymore. The pain is too much.
To all of the bullies I’ve faced: I hope you’re happy to you drove someone to their death.
To my father: Daddy. I love you. And I’m sorry.
To all my friends: don’t grieve me for too long. Go out and live your life as you know I’d want you to do.
21 years is too short of a life in some people’s minds, but in mine, it was too long.
Goodbye, cruel world.
Carmen put down the pen, pushed the notepad across the bed so that whoever found her would see that first before her body, and picked up the knife.
Even in her last moments, Carmen still felt some guilt for leaving behind friends and her beloved father. But, that only lasted for an instant before the numbness, the pain, slammed into her like a brick and she remembered why she had to do this.
She took one last deep breath, placed the knife to her throat, closed her eyes, and yanked her hand in a slashing motion over her jugular vein.
Carmen collapsed back onto the bed, spread her arms out eagle style, and died.