Category: Personal Essay

Why I Like Media About Suicide

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The universe seems to open up for the person thinking of it. For most of the movies and books out there about it, that is. It’s as if the whole universe decides to let them see why it’s worth continuing. Side quests and random relationships that change the whole perspective. I love all the different forms of media because I feel everything as if I were the main character. When reading, I don’t read and see what is described; I feel what is described, crystal clear.

When I first started smoking weed and ingesting edibles, I started to dream more and remember it. My dreams were always weird, and only once in a blue moon were they too real. One time, I took an edible and woke up, checking my arm to see if there was a bullet wound. Before getting shot I was engrossed in what was playing out in front of my eyes. They were talking to me but I didn’t feel like I was involved, until I got shot.

Dreams became another medium where I can feel a person’s emotions. Of course, the ones I know best and can understand are the strong emotions. I’m an addict of suffering. The amount of Japanese dramas and movies I would watch to have it tear my heart apart. The suicide ones always have a happy ending, usually, in some way or another. Someone, whether it was the friend who had to stay after the person was gone, or the actual person contemplating it. The air of hope and promise is so thick you can choke on it.

It’s amazing how fragile everyone is, yet we don’t speak it. It is also amazing what happens when we choose life. Such a beautiful masterpiece waiting to be woven, with others, with art, with love.

The Last Christmas

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We come to a scene in Long Island, NY. A big red house on a small side road of the only highway in or out of the hamptons. A single mother and a teenager from a class you don’t hear much about in this area. The holidays are all about traditions, this small family was surely different. The daughter, Aminah, had no wants other than to live comfortably. Something she knew was overly ambitious. The mother, Denise, was a dreamer who brought her daughter into the world in hopes to change it. With their family of two the tradition of Christmas was simple. Start shopping two weeks before and buy the tree two days before. Nothing else would be done until the twenty-third, starting with finally putting the lights and bulbs on the tree. Then all day Christmas eve the two of them will work until two or three am wrapping all the presents, putting the finishing touches on the tree, and baking at least five dozen cookies for aunts and uncles.

That was their tradition for the past decade, a smooth dance the two of them completed each year. This one would be diffrent though, and the last one the two of them would spend together. Aminah knew this despite her mother trying her best to console her. The whole year Denise had been in and out of the hospital. This was the first month they had been in their own apartment, and together, since March. Aminah had heard whisperings of Denise denying a gift of a kidney from a classmates family memeber. It seemed each day her mother grew sicker, and her biggest fears were coming true. The clock struck ten, and Denise called Aminah into her room.

“I’ll get up in an hour and we can start setting everything up.” Aminah looked at her mother, pale, slightly out of breath because she had missed dialysis for a few days. “It’s fine, mom. I can do it. Just rest and I’ll see you in the morning.”

She tested the different sets of lights, putting up her favorite bulbs and mixing them with the ones they had bought the other day. Tinsel all around the tree, while she chuckled thining about he cute elves from Santa Clause breaking everyone out with it. Lastly, she wrapped her mom’s presents, there would be no cookies this year. She finished everything around five in the morning, checked on her mom before finally going to bed.

Waking up four hours later, Aminah went to her mom’s room for them to open their presents. Denise began to cry as soon as she entered the living room. “You did such a great job, Aminah! The most beautiful tree we’ve had, for sure.” As always, to her surprise, there were about ten extra presents under the tree with her name on it. Aminah still doesn’t know how her mom was able to hide her presents; they would just appear under the tree. When did her mom do it? It had looked like she hadn’t moved since the morning. Most people then watch the parades or Christmas movies, but Aminah was never a fan of these things. So the two of them tuned into the radio and switched from the Oldies station, Delilah, and BLI. Music should never stay in one decade when being listened to.

Aminah started brunch, her signature dish, scrambled eggs with cheese and pancakes. The two sat singing songs, eating, and not talking about the elephant in the room. A beautiful memory, indeed.

Fountain of Youth

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I remember the year that I started to lose faith in systems. I was four or five years old and always teased.  I was fat, but wasn’t afraid of wearing belly shirts. My hair was always a mess, never becoming of a lady. My name was Ladybird regardless. I was always daydreaming about being anywhere, but where my body was at fake attention.

This one particular week was hard, a child in adult business. It started with a fight with one of my classmates, who would hold the gate for leaving time. The girl who felt like the meanest to me bit me to try and win the prize of brown nose. I will forever be stubborn about being useful; it was the only time I was seen outside of my mother. 

The same girl will end up biting me again about six years later for the same reason. What were the two of us to learn?

A pattern, you get hurt for minding others’ business.

On the last day of the week, when all the kids but three left, there was a big, beautiful Jaguar in the parking lot. We played outside, waiting for our parents to take us home. I convinced my friends that we should play with our toy cars on the beautiful, sleek expensive car. We raced  on that beautiful paint job, scratching perfect bold lines all around it. A lady came out and screamed and our parents came out apologizing. I can see then and now why it was wrong. However, I can still feel the satisfaction of that lady understanding what it feels like to lose something valuable. I had only convinced my friends because I had heard her say, “I am sorry but there is nothing we can do. The day care is in violation and must be shut down.” I bet a petty child with great intuition could rule a nation, but, the arrogance will always bring it to ruin.