(t r i g g e r w a r n i n g)
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Back to the days when everything is still under my control, I always thought that the mind of a person who will commit suicide is pure insanity. I mean, not as if it's a bad thing -- I just can't imagine how painful for them to think about death, alone in their room, while everyone else is outside, laughing -- unaware of one's doom -- but I know now.
My mom is outside, lost in her own world. Laughing with her friend, as if nothing is wrong.
There's nothing wrong -- it's just me.
My younger sister -- these tears are for her. I pity her, cause after this night ... everyone will label her as the sister of the suicide guy. I know it will hurt her, but it hurts me more and I think it's alright for me to be selfish just for this time. Painful is not enough to describe what I'm feeling now. Now that I'm drawing my death and my sister's, because there's a possibility that she will do it too.
I think about my suicide note for a long time. Think about what should it contain. But now, my mind is blank. My mind is nothing but a dark void -- a tornado eating itself. Drowning in myself ... in my own whirlpool. Dying inside my own blackhole.
Anyways, there's no law that says all person that will commit suicide should write their last note. It doesn't matter, they're not minding me when I'm alive, what more if I'm not. I guess, this crumpled paper of my suicide note will just keep my emotions in secret. No one will have the urge to unfold something that is folded. They don't want to read between the lines. They don't want metaphors. They don't want to understand something hidden -- or someone hiding. He's hiding but still wants to be searched and looked for, begging for someone to have enough curiosity or even someone who cares.
I open the tool box in front of me. I remember this is my Dad's gift.
"You'll need this. You're a man, you need this to fix everything."
Indeed, Dad, you're right. You are always right. Thank you, I didn't know I need this to fix myself. I pulled the cutter. It shines when my night light touched it's sharpness. This is it.
Dad, I need to ruin myself to fix everything. I'm too weak to be a man. I know I will disappoint you. You're only son is being a weakling tonight but don't worry, this is the last time. No one will disappoint you again after this hour.
3:00 am
Devil's hour? I believe it now. They are stronger this time. Coming stronger -- sinking deeper. Covered with cold sweat, tears and blood. Trembling hands.
I want this
I want peace
I'm sorry but I need to be free
Just a few layers of muscles and few droplets of blood --
Then black.
"Harry, don't let go! Please, we need you ..."
Is this hell? Does Satan needs me so much that he's crying and clinging on my arm?
White walls -- Oh, I'm alive. A familliar scene, a hospital.
3:13 am
Quite disappointed, I should've done better. I'm still a failure even in committing a suicide.
Are they happy now? They chased me and put me again in a dungeon of expectations and judgments. What are they thinking? That I will value my life since it's consider as my second life? Are they expecting me to be a good person after I tried to end my life? Why do I have to be the one to change?
Nothing will change. I'll try harder next time. I will do better, I will succeed next time. But now, I'm alive . . . I'm still alive. I'm resurrected -- and so are my demons.