Hey. It’s the 3 years Anniversary of JarOfDarkStars!
This is a huge deal for me and to celebrate I wrote a story that is also a huge deal to me. It’s a reflection of one my darkest time that this blog helped me come through. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story.
It’s like the world stopped spinning for one second. One very long second. As if the Universe wants to see what I’m about to do, and it wants a good view of it.
I’ve just shut the door to my bedroom behind me. After a second of hesitation, I slowly lock the door. Shutting away the rest of the world. Now I’m all alone. Really alone. And it’s just going to be me. Me and the Universe.
For a moment, I fight back the overwhelming emotions of what I’m about to do. Once I’m on the clear, I move to place the bottle of sleeping pills on my desk and grab a notebook and a pencil. Settling on the bed, I flip through it for a fresh page.
Where do I start?
“Are you really going to do this?” I lift my head up towards my dressing table to look at the mirror. Staring back at me is me. The longer I stare, the less I see myself and just see an empty face. The spirit of a person usually outshines their body but all I can see of myself is a worn out shell. The bags under the eyes, that are more felt than visible. The hollowness of my cheeks more noticeable in this dim lighting. Once there was a time where I believed I had beauty, best pronounced when I smiled. Except, now I don’t know how I ever managed to manifest that smile. I seem to have lost it, a very long time ago.
Focusing back on the page, I make a start. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for taking my own life.
I know this must be really shocking for you, but I couldn’t take it any longer and I didn’t know how to express what I feel. This “feeling”. This overwhelmingness that has taken over my mentality and shattered it into oblivion. Because I have been fighting against my depression for years, but in the last month it has come to a climax I can no longer find the strength to fight against.
My love for you guys was my strength, though that love has twisted to lethal because my love for you was killing me. My love for you was torturing me because it was forcing me to live. Even when I didn’t want to or I couldn’t live any longer. But I felt obliged to, in order to keep the ones I loved happy. At the expense of my own inner peace, sanity, and happiness, because I couldn’t fathom being the cause of your depression. To place you in the same state as I am- “
“Really? And killing yourself is going to accomplish just that, don’t you think?”
This time when I look up, the mirror reflection is a lot closer. Though this time, my entire body is seen on the outside of the mirror. Standing, cross-armed, in front of the dressing table. My reflection is not exactly the same, with cheeks a little chubbier and the face a lot rounder. She’s staring at me expectantly, waiting for my answer.
I open my mouth to respond, then shut it. I’ve already gone through this dilemma for the past month. Fought back against the thought of conflicting pain to my loved ones long enough to be alive today. But today, I made my decision. My final decision. And I can’t live another day through the torture just because of the doubt. I made a pact to go through with this no matter what.
Ignoring her, I continue to write. “But it has come to the point where I can no longer hold everyone up. I feel lost and too far gone to be found. I can’t see a future where I’m happy, I can’t even see past a day. And my fears have consumed me whole. That’s why I can’t do this anymore.”
“You don’t have to do this; you know? No one’s actively forcing you to be anything you don’t want to be.”
This time she’s kneeling on the floor against the bed. She looks so much younger, probably 14 or 15.
“I mean, you’re 18. Practically an adult. You can do whatever you want to do. Legally. The world is yours.”
I sigh out in exasperation. I remember that excuse. I used it shortly after my 15th birthday, another time when I considered suicide. I convinced myself then that I will have the freedom and benefits that only comes along with being legally an adult. Not knowing then that after high school, there was going to be a bigger, tougher world to fight against. Along with the ones in my head. I was naïve. If I had killed myself then I would have saved myself from this.
“But if you had killed yourself then, you wouldn’t have lived through some of the greatest moments in your life.”
“What’s the point anyway of them when I’ve reached right back to where I started?” I snap, despite the mental pact I made to not revisit old arguments.
“The point,” she says and leans closer, “is that it’s possible to come out of a dark place of mind and be happy. Remember the beach trip, the arts and crafts day and even your 16th birthday?”
Images flood my mind of these memories. Memories I’ve pushed so far back in my mind I almost forgot existed. It feels like it was so long ago since I’ve been as happy, to the point where I don’t even understand how I was able to feel it back then. Now that I think about it, there have been days where I worked so hard to be happy, and felt proud that I’ve accomplished it. But I can’t seem to remember the last time I was happy, or even content. That alone tears me apart. I’ve lived long enough in my own skin to know how this’ll play out in the end. Frankly, I think silence is better than repetitive depression cycles.
“I’m not doing this again. I’ve made up my mind,” I declare.
“But-”
“I don’t care!” I cut her off.
Refocusing back to the page, “I want it to be clear that it’s not your fault, or anyone’s fault in particular. It’s of my own doing and my responsibility alone. You have been the best parents I could ever ask for, but a part of me has always been wrong and I haven’t been able to grow out of it as hard as I tried. There has always been a part of me that’s broken. And it’s like the world doesn’t care for the rest of me that’s whole but likes to poke and prod on my weakness. No matter how hard I try to be different, better, something or someone will always hold my broken parts against me. Every time.”
“So what? You’re just going to stand there and let them mess with you?” the voice sounds different, slightly higher in pitch.
“Go away.” Not even bothering to look up this time.
“No! What is wrong with you?” she sits on the bed and grips the hand I’ve been writing with.
“Hey! Let go.”
“No. What is wrong with you? You’re just going to give up?” twelve-year-old me is staring me down.
I continue to try to tug my arm back, but she keeps a strong grip on it. “Let. Go. Of me.”
“This is not you. This is not us. The person we are would never give up over anything as stupid as this. Remember? Pain is only temporary and time will heal. Time will always heal.”
I couldn’t hold it back any longer, the tears began to roll down. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing left to fight for.”
“You fight for us! You fight for change, for the better. For people who can’t even fight for themselves,” She bursts out. Then eases and places her other hand gently on my shoulder, “You are much stronger than you know. You can fight through anything. You know better. Death isn’t better. There’s so much you’ll miss out on if you give up on yourself now.”
No doubt. No backing out. No doubt. No backing out. Pulling my arm free from her grasp, I continue, “I’m sorry, once again, for disappointing you. For being weak enough to give in to my darkness. I wish it hadn’t come to this. I wish I had been braver to speak up about it. I wish I wasn’t so afraid to cause you pain but I don’t know what else to believe. I tried everything, but everything wasn’t working out for me.
I love you. Know that I have always loved you, no matter what.
I’m sorry.”
“What did I just say?”
Getting off from the bed, I head over to take the sleeping pills. With the bottle in my hand, I move towards the bathroom.
Twelve-year-old me jumps up after me and gets in my way, “No, stop! Stop! Listen to me. Listen to me.”
She blocks every step I take to the bathroom. Moving her further back until her back hits the door and she has no room to move.
“Just hear me out! Okay? Once you walk in there, you’re basically saying ‘Okay, that’s it. All these years I’ve spent alive was for nothing.’ You’ll end your story before it has even begun. There’s so much that you’ll miss out and that is not right. This is not right. None of this is. And you know it. You think killing yourself will do you a favor? Stopping everything just because it got too hard? You didn’t quit when you learned to play the guitar, you didn’t quit when you learned how to swim even when you almost drowned twice. In fact, now you’re an amazing swimmer. And what does that have to do with the world and being a better person? Nothing. But you love it. And doing what you love makes you feel alive. Keeps you alive. So instead of following and doing everything that makes you want to die, do the things that make you feel alive. Because this is right. And you’re not a quitter. You’re a fighter.”
The tears are flowing steadily. I am beginning to doubt. I am doubting. Should I back out? No. I can’t do this anymore. No more inner wars.
I push past her. Upon placing my hand on the doorknob, I freeze at the sound of her voice.
“Please.” The voice so childish and fragile. Behind me stands a six-year-old version of me. “Please, don’t go.”
My hands begin to tremble uncontrollably. Her huge eyes are staring up at me, embedded with fear. My eyes widen.
“Please,” she begs, “don’t go. I’m afraid of the dark. If you go, they’ll take you away. Mommy said there are no dreams in the dark. And daddy said to always follow your dreams. If you go, I won’t ever be able to follow my dreams. And I really really really want to. I’ve been a good girl, I deserve it. And you do too.” She runs over and wraps her arms around my legs. Her huge eyes looking up at me hopefully. Quietly, she whispers, “Could you live? Live for one more day.”
It’s like the world stopped spinning for one second. One very long second. As if the Universe wants to see what I’m about to do, and it wants a good view of it.
The longer I stare at her, the worse my breathing becomes. Until all my breath has been robbed and I’m fighting to have them back. I’m fighting to breathe again. I’m fighting to breathe again.
I’m fighting to breathe again.
Dropping to my knees, I let go of the bottle. My entire body is shaking, breaking apart. Blood rushing through my veins. My heart pumping so hard with agony. My mind screaming with questions, accusations, and shame. What is wrong with me? What is wrong with me?
“It’s okay,” three-year-old me speaks gently. She tries to wipe the tears from my face. “Pwease, stop cwying. Evewething will be okay.”
Stroking my hair, she says it repeatedly until I have calmed down enough. Then she takes my hand and leads me away to the bed. I climb into and cover myself. Closing my eyes, putting all of my focus away from thinking and just onto breathing. Once my breath steadies out, I open my eyes.
Looking back at me are the same eyes. Situated in the plump little face of three-months-old me. She stares at me intently and reaches out with her little hands. I offer my hand and she takes my index finger into her hand, then pulls it in to suckle it. She pulls it away from her mouth and using her other hand, tries to pull my fingers apart. I watch in wonder.
I almost tried to kill you.
She starts to get agitated and cries. I pull her in closer and try to calm her with some lullabies. Soon she calms down and sleeps in my arms. Drowsiness takes over me and soon I fall asleep too.
I wake with a start. Someone is knocking on the door. I sit up and look wildly around.
“Wake up, honey! You’re gonna be late for school!” My mum calls out.
“I’m awake,” I yell in response.
“Okay, hurry on down for breakfast.” Then I hear her footsteps lead away from the door.
I look around the room in confusion. It looks different, or maybe I’m seeing it through different eyes. I see a bottle on the floor in front of the bathroom door. Slowly, the memory of last night washes over me. I look down for baby me but find a brown teddy bear instead. I sigh and lay back down on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling for a while, I just breathe. One more day.
Jar Of Dark Stars 