I never had a choice

I never asked to be born. It’s not like I was given much of a choice. I didn’t choose my parents, my house, the schools I went to or the country in which I live. I’m just here. And everyday it becomes harder for me to accept that. It’s not my fault that I see the world the way I do, or that I hold such feelings of hatred for it. Nothing would make me happier than to see it and everyone in it burn. But no amount of me hoping, ranting or dreaming of that is going to make it happen. So I give myself the one thing I’ve never had before. A choice. A choice to suck it up, knowing that even though tomorrow might be better there are many more days of hardship to be faced…or to just end it all before it gets any worse. Why shouldn’t I have that choice? Why would anyone want to tell me not to take my own life because, “the hard times only make the good ones seem better”…seem better? What part of “seem” is the same is “be”. There’s no point in waking up every day when every night you hope and you pray with all your heart that the sun won’t come up.

Maybe now it would be appropriate to say a little about myself. I grew up in a small town in a remote part of the country. Not a lot of people. Everything was so tight-knit. And I was so…different. I don’t know why, I just was. I had a hard time throughout the entirety of my childhood fitting in and finding friends. I was often bullied and as a result became quite a bully myself. I grew to prefer being alone. My relationship with my parents was rocky at best. Of course, I was a daddy’s girl. Dad and I were like peanut butter and jelly. But I only saw him a couple days in a month if I was lucky. The rest of the time I lived with my mother and my stepfather. Mom was okay..but she was scared. I could see it behind her perfect “paper-doll” expression and “prim and proper” lifestyle. My stepfather was a bastard. He liked to hit me a lot. Mom never did anything about it.I wanted so badly to live with my dad…I was never given that choice.

But I found refuge with the best friend I could have ever hoped for. I was 12 years old when we met. He took me under his wing and taught me how to live on stage. Everything I came to be was because of him. I grew up to be a passionate and exceptional cellist for 15 years. Every happy moment in my life for the six years that he was part of it I owe to him. He came to call me daughter and I loved him like a father. But eventually I graduated high school and moved on to college. Suddenly his hand was no longer on my shoulder. I was alone in a new town full of new faces. I made new friends. I became someone else. I became someone else so many different times that now I don’t even know myself anymore. I often feel like my soul doesn’t fit the body I’m in. Like this shouldn’t be my life. I no longer play. It pains me so greatly to even take my beautiful instrument out of its case. Like it’s looking at me with such immense disappointment that I just keep it locked away to spare myself the tears that I know will soon follow. I gave up on the one thing I loved the most. And now I don’t have much love for anything at all.

Every day is the same. I wake up, I go to work, I make a pathetic little paycheck every two weeks, I go home, try to fall asleep and start over. I’m so stuck in the past that I’m afraid of the future. All I can think is “why did I let myself do this?”  “how did I get here?”. I’m so tired of being afraid all the time. Sad all the time. Soon every friend I have here will be gone. They’re moving on with their lives. But I’ll still be here. Alone yet again. And even more lost than I’ve ever been before. All I really know anymore is loss and heartbreak. I just want it to end.

I’ve survived two suicide attempts. But unlike most, I never reached any kind of epiphany. I never felt like it was something I shouldn’t have done. The only regret I ever felt both times was the regret of not succeeding.

It doesn’t matter who I am. It doesn’t matter who I was or planned to be. Who I loved, who I hated…they don’t matter now. Because in the end it just comes to a screeching halt one way or the other. Life is just a terminal disease that we all have. The only cure is to die. If there is someone who has anything to say about that, I am completely open…for now. Thank you for reading.