Category: Personal Writing

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.

The Silver Cylinder

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This is my safe place. Since five years old, when I came to this Elementary school, I would take solace in this space. Before school, recess, after school; now a place in my mind I go to. It kept me safe from the wind and cold in winter. In summer, it burned my skin the way that I like, candle wax that I can feel on something other than my hand.

My thoughts race as I watch the kids play on the playground. I am other and feel I can never belong. Why do I want to belong? I think of my parents, aunts, uncles and their responsibilities. Til this day even when I have a lot of responsibility I feel no one thinks me worthy. I didn’t want what they had anyway. There is nothing I want to do other than live, experience all of the things possible to experience. As a child I can understand that money allows you to do that, that some have more than others. Why does that exist when we have all we need around us? What is value when we are only living?

These are questions I was too young to ask, and only asked myself. How does a five year old with no hope answer them? Throughout the rest of my life I go through the motions knowing that I am not meeting the milestones of the world. I just couldn’t understand the reason and felt I had already lost. I breathe in, the enclosed space of the cylinder allows me to feel comfort. Warmth, heat, fire, and safety; the only feelings I can put my finger on. Sadly, to this day I can put my finger on but still don’t understand.

It’s the end of the world. I have no job. I am not living in any place. My body is here, my soul is dead, and I wonder what freedom truly is. I start to scoot out of my cylinder, the sound of my chains echoing throughout. When I was five, I’m sure I pictured myself here, yet I never gave up, only talked about it. Is it time to throw it in?

Sunrise, Soon rise

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At exactly 7:48 am the sun peaked behind the apartment buildings. She blew on her mug squinting as it peaked. “This is what I pay for” she thought. She had been up all night, worried. Worried that all her fears had come true since she was a child but one. Well, the one was a fear and a wish. Even as a child she knew that she was useless, she had potential, she knew that. However, she wasn’t a person that knew how to use it. So many people struggling out there could have done so much with this life. It is wasted on her, but just look at this sunrise.

Today was the day she would start therapy and probably be prescribed medication. Hoping to give herself the fight she needed. Cause suicide wasn’t an option, she could never handle pain. No matter how many times she pictured and planned, she’d Google it and click the first link. It talked about what jumping off of a bridge does to a body. It shook her to her core that it is possible to attempt to die and be stuck here with no ability to move. Looking it up was a way to make her stay vigilant, if it can hurt others it cannot be a plan. 

The mom  figure of a therapist let her in her office. It seemed kinda shady as it was in a basement of an old apartment building. There were plenty of doctor’s offices down there, all seemingly lost in time. The lady asked her to tell her about herself, a question she always hated. Diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, the therapist says she will write a prescription for lexapro. She’s heard of it but the whole session felt rushed and unhelpful. She would end up being right, trying to reconnect with the therapist made her feel like she imagined her visit. Would she only ever be ghosted by people?

Once again 7:48 AM she watched the sun slowly rise behind the apartment buildings in the distance. She wondered when that will be her. A blazing force slowly rising to bring good and bad things to the people of earth. Just think how often it is for people to rise so bright that they assume it’s only light and warmth shared. Do you think that is what parents always hope for their child’s future? She knows that one day that will be her. A sun, a phoenix, an important figure with a caring touch. Soon she’ll be just like the sun she admires.