White Pills, Lights and Lies

I always said from the start no one could save me. Not my parents, not the doctors, not myself. I didn’t really want to be saved.
Four o clock in the morning, found lying on the floor of my bedroom, a breath away from death, with a bottle of pills scattered across the floor. So I had everything, or so it seemed to others. I just wanted to get away. It wasn’t hard to take the pills. All I had to do was think of everything that made me cry, everything they did to hurt me. No one would have missed me if I were gone..
Sometimes hell seems more inviting than life. Maybe life is hell

They got the phone and dialled. Flashing lights and oxygen masks.
My life dangling on a string.
            They fucking got me.

I woke up to the stench of disinfectant, and white reflective hospital walls. The room spun, and the walls closed in on me. I screamed and cried, no one came.
I couldn’t believe I was awake; I didn’t want to think that it had happened, I had failed the biggest test of my life. I never could do anything right.

Why couldn’t they have just fucking left me there!?

I took in my new surroundings with a sick sense of amusement. No curtains or blinds with ropes to hang off, and no long power cords to use as a noose. Nurses watched me take my pills everyday, and checked under my tongue to make sure I swallowed. They always knew when I was pretending. The shower was detachable and I wasn’t allowed to shower my face, in case I tried to drown myself. No sharp objects, not even the forks had a point.
I laughed every time I thought about it. Maybe I was unstable, but I wasn’t stupid enough to try anything when help was a hairs breath away.
There was still some rational thought left in me, I had the rest of my life to plan my next attempt out, thanks to these people.

The nurses all dressed in white, as if they thought they were angels. They scurried in and out regular as clockwork, like mice, never stopping to chat. As if death was contagious and I was trying to reel them in.
The doctors prodded me, made diagnoses and decided my future, and my chances. Seemed like a waste of time to me.. I wasn’t going anywhere. I was just an empty body, devoid of all thought and emotion. But I was like that long before I arrived there.

The hospital room became a cell; I even had a barred window to stop me trying to jump. All words were spoken softly, as if they were scared I would break if they raised their voices. I wanted them to yell, to tell me I wasn’t worth it, to say it would have been better if I were dead. I wanted them to lay on the floor having convulsions, begging me to stay alive, begging me to save myself. Any reaction other than calmness and indifference.
But they never did, every move, every footstep was rhythmic, and calculated.

A lady came to talk to me. She told me she wanted to be my friend; she wanted to know about me. She wanted me to play her stupid game. She could ask me three questions and I had to answer honestly.
The first to were easy, how old was I, what did I like doing in my spare time. The third question was what stopped me in my tracks.

”Why did you want to throw everything away.”

I gave her the coldest, hardest stare I could, dug up right from the bottom of my rotting heart. I didn’t like her games; she just wanted to get inside my head. She thought the same as everyone else - I had done it for attention, to see what everyone would think of me.
To see who really cared.
Funny, I already knew the answer to that.

She spent her time helping other people; she was always needed to make them better. She wouldn’t understand what it was like to never be good enough, to be constantly in the shadows, and reminded what she could be. I was nothing, I had been told that. I was too fat, too lazy, to stupid, to ugly. I couldn’t help anybody, I didn’t make anybody happy, I was an oxygen waster.
I knew what that felt like.
Instead of cuddles I got hit, or if I was really lucky, black eyes. Bruises and scars adorned my body. From their fists, harsh words from their mouths. No matter who held the blade, “they” were behind each cut, each severed vein. Every time I lay bleeding on the floor, I made them happy.
And a little part of me died.

She couldn’t even contemplate how much it means to be cast off by the people you love the most. The ones who are supposed to support you through everything, and anything. And love you until the day you died. I figured they didn’t love me when I was alive; maybe they would love me if I weren’t there. They’d be grateful I made their lives easier. I just wanted them to love me..

But some things just aren’t meant to be.

Time fades into nothing when nothing is all you have. Rainy days, drifting away as I sat by myself looking out the window, watching people walk by, free and alive. They had everything I never could. They had someone to come home to and tell about their day, someone to hold them when they were scared. They had someone who loved them.
I screamed, I screamed at nothing, I screamed to get me out of this place, get me out of my head. I guess it was reasonable they thought I was crazy. I wasn’t crazy, I was just mad. I needed to do what I needed to do, and all I wanted was to end everyone’s suffering. I was lonely, and I was alone.

Everyone wanted me to be fine, but no one really cared if I lived or died. At least they could say they tried. Written off as a hopeless case, she never really stood a chance anyway. The posters would be taken from my walls, the furniture burned, the paint recoated, until all traces of me were gone forever.

And people would cry, watch as my body burned, as my ashes were thrown into the sea. The photos would be put away, in a box for safe keeping way in the attic, and in time, they would forget.
I would just be that girl, who did a stupid thing, and didn’t really give herself a chance.

That girl who wasted her life on a bottle of pills, just to see what would happen.
No one would really give a fuck why she did it.

Blame the one who can’t speak out.