The Mirror (Part 5)

Where am I? What’s going on? Why is that light so bright? What happened? I don’t remember anything… What else is new. I must have blacked out again, didn’t I? What’s his name must have gotten worried. I think I’m at the hospital again, aren’t I? Or did I…

I look down at my wrists, they’re fine. Nothing’s happened. I had to wonder. I had to ask myself. I’ve thought about the idea of suicide so many times that I had to wonder if this was my attempt. If this was my final way of trying to escape this world. It wasn’t, though.

I finally look around the room, I’m here alone. That’s never a surprise. These guys never know what to do when I black out. They take me to the hospital then just leave. What gentlemen, can’t even stay to make sure that I’m okay, even though they “love” me. They don’t know what love means. The only man that ever knew what love meant was Richard, and he’s gone. He won’t be coming back. He never returned my calls… and there he was. Standing in the doorway.

I felt like my voice was caught in my throat, like there was something stuck in my throat and I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do anything. Was I hallucinating or was he really there? Have I gone to heaven? He stares at me, shaking his head.

“I knew you’d end up here. This is why I had to go. I knew that you would end up like this and I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, of seeing you lose yourself. You’ve really done it this time though, haven’t you?”

He looks so disappointed and I can’t do anything but look down and away and shame. He continues, “I never stopped loving you. I never fell out of love with you. I always thought that you were the ideal woman. I thought that you would be everything I needed and more. I thought we could be perfect for each other. But not like this. Never like this.”

I didn’t know what more to do other than to look away in shame, slightly scratching at my wrist. There was no IV, no hospital bracelet. I don’t know why he started screaming when I touched my wrist. It’s not like I cut them open. I didn’t have the guts to do that. I didn’t have the guts to see the blood pouring out of them. I was too afraid.

Instead, I just went home and found a bottle of pills. I was remembering things now. I took all of them at one time and washed them down with some left over vodka. I almost vomited on the spot from the taste of the vodka but I couldn’t take anymore. I couldn’t take anymore of the pain. I couldn’t take anymore of the anger and frustration and I couldn’t take anymore of constantly feeling like I was never going to be good enough. Not for my family. Not for anyone that considered me a friend. Not for Richard. Not even for myself. I was never even going to be good enough for myself. That’s the worst part.

When I was younger, I had high hopes for myself, I had dreams, I had these visions of life being exactly the way that I wanted it. I was in love, I was happy, I was special, I was someone that everyone looked at and their jaws would drop. I was beautiful. In this life? That’s a joke. In this life I will never be beautiful. Someone always finds me just in time though. I never get to successfully end things because people always find me just at the last moment. Why do they always have to find me? Why can’t anyone just let me die?

I just wish that they would let me die. He’s still screaming, sobbing actually in the doorway. Just staring at me and asking me why I had to do this. Why this was something that I felt necessary and that things would get better, they always got better for me. Why would I do this? Why?

I had no idea that another suicide attempt could impact him so much. He’s been there with me through all of them. He’s sobbed during all of them and I don’t really know what to say to him. I always just stare at him and fiddle with something. I chew on my nails, bite my tongue, play with my hair, something. I do something, anything so that I don’t have to look at him. Seeing him in pain is… is… it’s worse than the pain of me being brought back to life over and over again.

It’s worse than these people finding me. He suddenly gets up, doesn’t say anything to me, shakes his head and walks out the door. I don’t understand. I don’t understand what’s going on. I don’t understand why he felt that dramatic scene was appropriate. Can’t he see that I’m going through enough? Can’t he see that him LEAVING is what did this to me? Can’t he see that this is his fault?