Chapter 3: Drowning In Blood
"Mrs. Davail...." the doctor says surprised to see me as I cut him off, "Please, anything?" I beg him as he nods and I sit on the couch. "Sometimes these thing cure themselves, but there is not much else we can do" he says as I feel like a piece of me is taken by the simple words that came out of his mouth, one that I'll never get back, hope. "Other than group therapy, psychotherapy and behavioral" he says as I close my eyes and laugh, "It's not worth it, is it?" I ask him as he readjust his glasses and I smile.
"Mrs. Davail, it will get better" he says as I looks at the floor, because to me there is no point of recognizing faces, when they'll only hurt me in the long run. "I get it, thanks" I say as I get up and open the door, "Wait" he says as I turn around and lean on the door. "Don't do anything irrational, hang in there, you will get better" he says as I nod, "Will do."
I've broken many promises, I've lied to the people closet to me in hopes of them staying. Staying because the worst pain, feelings or no, is watching someone close to you walk out of your life. But doing something for the feeling, in hopes of feeling, that was every single day of my life. Wrapped around the hope of waking up and feeling something, but now I know what I must do.
As I get into my car and scream, scream until the air in my lungs is all gone and I can finally breathe again. As I drive home with my thoughts racing at a thousand miles an hour, I can't help but feel like there is only one way out.
And for those of you who are thinking it, yes. I cut, long sleeve shirts are my omen, but I never did learn how to get the blood stain out of my sleeves.
For me the simple sight of blood made me know I was still here, that I was simply human, that I could bleed. That I would bleed, I was just short of the feeling process, it helped. Even though just the sight of my arm would simply seem like it's more harm than anything, but for me.....for me it was clarification that I was still here, still emotionless but alive.
"Rose!" My mom says with anger in her voice as I just want nothing more than to flee to my room and see my arm bleeding, at this point I needed it more than anything. "Where were you?" She ask me as I pull off my coat and my sleeves almost ride up and I catch them just in time. "You left at your own grandmothers funeral? What is your explanation this time?" She ask, waiting for my response as I smile, "If you even heard what Wright said about me, you'd leave too" I say as she nods her head at me as I walk up the stairs angrily. "Always taking his side, I hope it's worth it when I'm gone" I say as she smiles, "MOVE OUT THEN!" She yells as I close the door to the bathroom and looks into the mirror.
It all reminds me of the memories that remain in my head of the bittersweet memories, the ones of her.
Eight years ago
After that doctors visit I learned something that I would carry with me through my entire life, how to put on a good face. "No matter what you feel" my mother says as she looks at me in disgust and rephrased her words, "Even if you can't feel at all, wear a smile, the world will go on, might as well wear a smile instead of a frown" she told me.
This was my therapy. Instead of any behavioral, group or even psychotherapy, this was the best for me, at least that's what she thought to herself. "No daughter of hers would be a psychopath, attending therapy in the the one chance to feel something, that worse than murder", at least that's what she told me.
"Rose" my grandmother calls my name as she walks into my room and I rush to cover up the cuts, "Yes" I say as I throw my sheets over the bleeding cuts, even though the blood is bleeding through my sheets, and are left to be seen through the quickly seeping stains.
"Oh my, Rose?!" She says to me as I sit on the bed beside her, "My poor Rose, why are you doing this?" She ask me as I truly don't know how to answer, but even if I wanted to I know I can't lie to her, she's the only person in the world who gave me the time of day. I always felt sorry for the fact that I couldn't feel anything for her. "Am I not suppose to do this?" I ask her as she nods her head, covering her mouth with her hand in shock. "Why are you doing this baby?" She ask me as I cave, "I can't feel gran, sometimes I don't feel human.....until I see the blood, I feel better" I tell her as she hugs me tight, "Promise you'll never do it again, please Rose. Talk to me instead" she begs me as I nod.
I knew I shouldn't promise anything that I knew would result in me breaking it, but the pain in her eyes was to much. That was the first time I ever broke at the sight of someone caring about me. Because at that moment I knew that if my mother found out she would be angrier at me possibly damaging her reputation more than anything. I knew if I ever found someone who cared, I'd do whatever I could do to never lose this person, to keep them at my side.
Present day
As I looked in the mirror I knew that death was unfair, but so tempting. The only person who I'd ever left bed for, was gone. Six feet below and I didn't feel anything about it, not even the slightest.
As I picked up the pocket knife I always kept in the cabinet and slit, both my wrist. And when I looked in the mirror, with blood running down my arms I couldn't help but be more tempted than ever. "This is for you" I says as I open the compartment and smile at the bottle of pills.
A new start, with a bottle of pills and regrets in the past, right? It's worth a shot, and when a desperate person is out of chances, there is only one way out.
I was always told that suicide was the pussy way out, well it was the only light at the end of the tunnel, and I need to see so badly, the dark is so lonely and cold. Because maybe in the afterlife I'd be able to feel something, anything is better than nothing at all.
As I bring the bottle to my mouth and take a deep breath and smile at the thought. As I push away my sanity and down the pills in one go and smile at the thought of them working and I instantly feel my legs give in. As I fall to the bathroom ground I hear banging on the door, belligerent and loud. As I see the door cave in pieces and feet near me as I look at my bleeding wrist as my eyes close and I hear one voice.
A voice of someone familiar but someone bugging me from my peace, from my chance. "Hang in there, please hold on" he prays as I smile, hoping I wouldn't, hoping that his prayers would fail and it would all end on this cold bathroom floor.
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