Authors note: This is a creative piece that I wrote. It is about how a girl with mental issues hears voices and how these voices dictate her life. Her parents are never there for her anyways and this is about the last day of her life, when she makes the heart breaking decision to end her life because she believes that she is burden to everyone and anyone.
As she walks down the halls people give her dirty looks and
push her. She keeps her mouth closed. She wonders why people treat her like
this? “Was it something I did? No, how could it be? I have no friends or social
life. Why do people hate me?” She ponders this question every day, and every
day she comes up with the same answer. “ The voices they made me like this,
it’s all their fault. The reason I have no friends or ever will. The reason I
never get invited to anything. It’s the voices.. “ The voices had been with her ever since she
could remember. They ran her life, influenced every decision she made. They are
the ones who put the scars on her wrist in the first place.
When she first put the blade to her wrist she was crying in
fear, she just wanted the voices to stop. They claimed that if she did this
little favor for them, they would leave her alone. “It will take away all the
pain and bad monsters that are inside of you,” they would say. Now she does it
to take make them go away for the short period of time she holds the blade to
her skin. As soon as the blood was off her arms and the blade was cleaned off
the voices were back. “Good job,” they would tell her, “ you let out more of
your demands.” This is the only time the
voices were ever pleased with her. Otherwise all they would do is hate on her,”
You’re so ugly, Why would you cut yourself? What a bitch, Why would you do that
to yourself? That girls is so much better than you. Why would you even think of
doing something so stupid? You are stupid. Everyone hates you. No one loves
you.” One by one each of these sayings broke her into thousands of little
pieces. With each lost pieces she fell apart even more. She was now held
together by the tiniest strands of thread, the ones that rip if you even touch
them. She was like sand, when the wind comes through she loses more and more of
herself every time.
It didn’t help that her parents were never there for her.
They had never even come to her elementary school performances. She was used to
being on her own. She shopped for herself and her family. Every Tuesday she
went to the local market and bought the food she could afford. The only thing
her parents made sure to keep stocked up was the alcohol. After living with
them for 17 years she knew their routines by heart. They would be asleep still
when she left at 7:30 for school, but both gone and out working when she came
back at 3. They wouldn’t be home till about 6. (This is when she would sit in
the bathroom cutting herself hoping the voices would finally leave her.) This
was just a warm up for her though, when the clock struck 6, that was when the
real torture started. Her mom always walked in first, no matter what. As they
walked through the kitchen the each grab a bottle of vodka and walked into the
room. Once the door was closed she knew in about 20 minutes that door would
open again and they would both be glossy eyed and hammered. “You ruined
everything! How could I give birth to such a disgrace!? Oh! More cuts?! When
are you going to grow a pair and actually kill yourself?! “ Her mom would
scream this and other words that cut through her heart like a steak knife.
Now with her mother all worked up, this upset her father.
“You know your mother has hard days at work and now she comes home and you
upset her?! What is your problem?” She had memorized this line. He Said this
every night as he pulled back his arm just before he hit her hard across the
face. Now she was so used to it there was just a faint sting. She could already
feel the redness coming to the right side of her face. Nothing new to her. As
she reacted to the slap to her face her father came in with a blow to her
stomach. Throw to the floor by the force of the punch, tears rolled down her
eyes. He screamed some stomach turning words at her before turning to leave
with her mother to the bar for the night. 7:30 was about the time they left
every night. They wouldn’t return until 1 or if it was a good night 2. After
they left she made her dinner Frozen pizza. As she swallowed a bite of the
pizza the voices returned. “ Why are you eating?! You are already fat enough!
What is wrong with you?! How many times have we told you not to eat?! How come
you never listen?! Are you stupid or something?” With each bite this got worse
and worse. After using all her might to ignore the voices she gave in after a
piece and a half and went to the bathroom to binge. Five minutes later she
walked out of the bathroom only to leave behind the food she had eaten all day
and the tears she had cried due to the hurt in her stomach from the bruising of
her father’s punch.
Finally before she went off into sleep or as she liked to
call it endless nightmares, she weighed herself. It had become a nightly
ritual. The cold of the metal scale made her feet shiver. Waiting the five to ten
seconds for her number to show up seemed like a year for her. The final number
of the day: 97.5. She hadn’t gained
weight in about 6 months. She was pleased with this. For the first time out of
the whole day at 8:15 she smiled for once. She then walked into her room and
sat at her desk and took her medication. She had full bottle( She had just
gotten more the day before) For minutes all she could do was stare at the
bottle, with the pills taunting her. Then a light bulb or two went off in her
head, she knew it was now or never. She would put all her pain away, forever,
and the voices would be gone. As tears filled her eyes she took out a slip of
paper from her back pack and a pen from her desk. She knew exactly what to
write.
Dear whoever reads this,
Well, this is my final goodbye. Today is the 4th
of March. I am saying this because my parents rarely venture into my room. I am
just going to say it, I am going to kill myself as soon as I am done writing
this letter. This is not an apology letter. I am not sorry for about to do what
I am going to do, but I am sorry for ruining all of your lives. No, you people
yourself never told me the voices told me, and they always seem to guide me in
the right direction. I would not like a funeral. I have no friends that would
attend this event. To tell the truth I have no friends at all. You may find it
funny but I haven’t said a word to another person besides a teacher or my parents
in over 7 months. To my parents, I don’t blame you for anything that you have
done to me ever. I love you with all my heart and you two were my best friends.
Just remember since I’m not going to be home anymore, don’t forget to pay the
bills and restock the fridge. On the counter is the list on things I usually
purchase. I know that you noticed the cuts on my wrist and lower arm. I think
you should know that I also have them on my thighs and stomach. You’re not the
reason I cut ether. The voices told me that they would leave me alone if I did.
They partly told the truth. They left me alone until the blood dried. I am
sorry for being such a disappointment in life. May the burden be lifted off
your shoulders. I do not wish for a funeral, or article in the paper and even
an announcement at my school. It would just add extra unimportant work to others
days who did nothing to deserved the disgrace of looking or talking about me.
The only thing I want is for the voices to stop, they are why everyone hates
me. I apologize for not being normal. May one day all of your lives be how they
were supposed to be before I came along. There is one person who I would like
to thank and that is my doctor, the medication he has been prescribing me for
years now has made things better than before I had the medication. You are what
keep me alive for this long. Everyone has a time, this is just my time. My
breaking point. I don’t know why I keep apologizing. With you I will leave my
most priced items, my blades. I own 5, each one sharper than the other. I have
owned the first one since I was 11. That was the age I was when I first cut. I
can safely say I am addicted and I will now tell you that I cut every day. I
don’t know why this letter is so long, it’s not like anyone really cares. I am
probably going to hell for this but it is what I need to do. I love you. I am sorry.
Don’t think any of this is your fault. Your life will be better without me.
Love,
Lizzy
She then took all the pills, one by one. With each pill
sliding down her throat she felt herself slip away a little more. Placed the
empty pill bottle on the note with her blades and laid on her bed. Finally
after going through that same thing every day year after year she was going to
be free. She looked to the clock and it was 10:45 and once she looked away from
the clock the voices stopped that that’s when she knew she was free. Tears
filled her eyes and a smile wider than any she had shown in years came upon her
face. She closed her eyes and she was happy and free at last.
