I can remember the first time I was about to commit suicide. It was about two years back... Maybe even one, I can't really remember.
All I can remember was what happened.
At the moment I felt like it was the right thing to do. I couldn't handle all of the thoughts that were in my mind.
I felt lost, desperate for an escape.
I wanted to run away from my reality.
I guess I was being a coward; Trying to run away from my problems instead of facing them.
But I have been facing them for so long. Has that gotten me anywhere?
I didn't think so, I still don't.
I never know anything... That’s the problem. I never know what to do.
My mom always says it, that I am too lost in this world.
That I better get my head straight or I'll never get anywhere.
It makes me angry when she says that, because it’s true.
And I can’t deny the truth, especially when it’s in my face.
So I guess suicide seemed appropriate at the moment.
I guess death was the solution I could come up with.
I made my way to the kitchen and I grabbed the sharpest knife I could find.
I held it up to the light and stared at it.
I glanced down at my wrist and thought "is it worth it?".
Then the sobs came.
I was crying for dear life.
My tears created rivers down my cheeks and I could feel my shirt becoming stained with tears.
I don't know what exactly caused me to break down in tears.
Maybe the thought of losing my life was getting to me.
I hadn't even inflicted any pain on me and I could feel it.
I could feel the pain that was coming.
Flashbacks raked my mind..
I saw my childhood.
I saw a sunshine blonde, curly haired, brown eyed girl running around, laughing, not a care in the world.
I saw her run into her father's arms. I saw him lift her in the air and as the sunlight hit her golden hair, she looked like an angel; her laugh so contagious and sweet.
I saw the innocence just oozing from her.
Then it fast forwarded to an older version of her.
Her curly hair now a dark blonde, she sat in the corner of a room.
She was staring off into space, her eyes full of tears.
In the other room you could hear voices.
A man and woman yelling, glass breaking. The door slams and she closes her eyes.
She knows who left through that door.
"Daddy.. daddy don't go.." she whispers.
But she knows he won’t hear it, he's gone.
It fast forwards again and now it’s evident she's nine years old.
All that could be seen is an older man towering over her.
Her confused face tilted to the side, she watches the man slowly unzip her jeans.
She feels wrong, she feels unsafe.
Something tells her she should run, but he says it’s okay so she stays.
Now she's naked, her tiny nine year old body exposed to a man that's bordering his 50's.
He begins to touch her, in her small private area.
She squirms a bit, not liking the feel of it.
Something like this shouldn't feel good?
Mommy always told her that she shouldn't let any one touch her in her private area.
She tries to wiggle free but he holds her down.
Soon she starts to panic a little, not liking where things were going.
He told her to lie still, that it was okay.
He grabbed her little hand and made her touch his erection, he said it was to be fair..
She didn't like it, she hated this.
But she had to listen to her uncle, because he said it was okay.
It fast forwards again, to a similar scene, only this time the girl is screaming, struggling to break free.
Because the guy is trying to enter her, and she knows that isn't right.
He's about to give the first thrust when the sound of a door opening stops him.
He looks down at the girl then at the door.
In that moment the girl breaks free and she runs.
Pulling her pants up along the way she runs, crying.
She runs and runs and ends up nowhere.
She feels so dirty, so filthy.
The memory fast forwards through multiple events.
The girl growing up, getting beat by guys, cutting herself, puking her food, and lastly it settles in the present.
That girl, it’s me and I don't want to be myself any longer.
I'm still holding the knife in the air and I start bringing it down.
I look to the side and I make eye contact with a pair of dark eyes.
It was my sister, watching me.
She looked confused and scared.
She shakes her head no and I dropped the knife.
She looked at me one last time and ran away.
I don't know if she understood what I was doing, but I knew she was the reason I stopped.
Those dark eyes looking at me in confusion, I knew she didn't understand.
She was only a child.
I like to think that my little sister is my savior. A sign that there is a purpose for me, not matter how messed up I am.