The Tunnel

In the state if Arizona, there is a tunnel known to grant you wishes. If you drive through it, hold your breath until the end, you can make a wish and only hope it to come true. When I was younger, I’d always wish for a bike, finding my soulmate, or a house, camera, etc.

When I was 12, my wishes started to change. I had started wishing for a permanent home to stay, for someone in my family to show me love, for me to be happy; I gave up on that quickly as things were always getting worse. So I  started wishing for my death. I wished I would become diagnosed with a terminal illness, for a Semi to strike me while in the car, for someone to walk up and shoot me in the head. It seems dark, but I’m assuming for this site, it could also just seem amateur or ridiculous because there is always someone out there that wants to tear you down no matter the cause.

People always spoke to me when I would open up to them and they would all give me the “It gets better” speech. What they never tell you, and no one will because they have to remain optimistic for your sake, is that for some others: It does not get better. Then they proceed to tell you that you must hit rock bottom because the only way is up from there. I don’t think they understand what rock bottom could mean for some people.

Anyways, this isn’t about them. It’s not about anyone. This is about me and what led me to my decisions.

Today I sit alone in a hotel room located at one of my favorite places in the world: Sedona, Arizona. It’s so peaceful and quiet here. I knew this is where I wanted to be to take my final breath. Although, I did invite 3 people to come with and stay with me. No takers. Made this decision easier. No one has even reached out to me while I’ve been here. I even confessed to a friend I was planning on suicide at this hotel and yet, I’m still all alone.

In summary, my mom was verbally/mentally/physically abusive. She was also very manipulative. She would often have sex with me sleeping on the bed with her and the new guy of the year. Same with my siblings; we’d sleep on the floor while she’d be on the bed making a lot of noise in the middle of the night while we had to wake up for school the next morning.  She would beat me due to her temper and patience. While she would help me study with flash cards, if I got an answer wrong, she would scream at me; call me an idiot, say she was disappointed, and then throw the cards off the tablet, slap me/pinch me and would tell me to figure it out. If she had a reason to beat me, she would be sure to grab the metal hanger, not the plastic. She would be sure to grab the belt that was studded. She would be sure to buy me clothes to cover up the marks and bruises. She would make me take care of my baby brothers, change their diapers, feed them, put them to sleep because she simply didn’t want to; I was 11 at the time. We moved every year depending on who she was fucking at the time. For a while I would stay with others and they just neglected me because they hated my mom and wanted nothing to do with me either. We hadn’t spoke in years until she had a stroke a couple of years ago. Then she wanted to speak to me, try and be kind, but really she just wanted to collect pity. I attempted to drop contact with her until I got a phone call from a collection agency stating she stole my identity and owed money for unpaid bills. When I confronted her about it, she told me to go fuck myself. Mother dearest…

My father was never there unless he needed to remind himself that he was a father to 6 estranged kids. He was a typical dad. Neglected his children so he can run off and do drugs and fuck whomever he wanted.  He went to prison for 5 years because of it. He reached out to me, attempting reconcile our relationship. I gave him a chance and he ended up neglecting me for some woman he had just met and thereafter wanted nothing to with me until later. He attempted to contact me again and I refused. He then proceeded to threaten me and say he would die soon due to high blood pressure and for that I should show more respect. I followed in my mothers footsteps and told him to fuck off. My mother threatened me last year similarly when she had a stroke. They both got a close taste to death and they finally noticed me… They wanted to speak to me because in all honesty, they were lonely bitter people and they needed one person to soak up sympathy from. Father dearest.

When I was 20, I met the love of my life. We moved across the country and were head over heels in love. We hardly ever argued, we showed each other such an immense amount of affection, and we spoke about the future we could create for ourselves. He made me believe that I deserved loved for the first time in my life. I felt loved and cared for. He was there for me every step of the way, including on my bad days when I would struggle with my mental health. He was my best friend. Some of the things I miss and remember most: When I would wake up and see him lying next to me. Messing around to the point where we would wrestle each other and laugh our heads off. The days when we would be at war with our Nerf guns. Movie nights after work and cuddles on the couch. Listening to music in the car and singing to the top of our lungs. Getting into bed at night and having him always hold my hand until he fell asleep. Kisses on the forehead. Taking off my hat and running his fingers through my hair even though I was insecure about the psoriasis on my scalp. Calling me beautiful on days I didn’t feel like it. Cooking dinner creations while dancing in the kitchen to music. Holding each other in the shower after a hard day at work. His eyes. The way his cheeks got red in the cold. His crooked smile. I believed him to be the soulmate I asked for in that tunnel. The happiness I had always wished for, my forever home. We talked about getting married,  having kids and living in a house close to the mountains.

Then my mental illness got in the way… I sabotaged our relationship due to my insecurities. After 4 and a half years, we decided to separate to work on ourselves for a while until we could be together again. Although it didn’t work that way. One day before I moved back home, we saw each other again to catch up and say goodbye. He told me that he planned on proposing to me at this spot we traveled to when we moved to Washington state. It was a beautiful spot, the mountain was full of fall colors, leaves all over the ground, the lake flowing towards the cascades and just a waterfall about 10 feet away. It was perfect. But he moved on… quickly. He slept with women a month after our split. He also met someone else and is now starting a life with her not even a year after we split. They look happy… He messaged me and told me he was over me and no longer interested and then blocked me on all social platforms. Lover dearest.

Love is fucking weird. I’ve never felt it so passionately only to have it pulled out from underneath my feet like that. I was never deserving of it and that proved it for me. It may seems silly to you all, you’re probably rolling your eyes, but with my personal experiences and what I have gone through growing up, that was my beacon of light. He was my light and he not only smashed the glass, but he took out the bulb and shattered the glass to dust so there was no opportunity of bringing it back to repair. And I still miss him… I still try to glue the pieces I can find to put it back together but it never turns out right. He was my best friend… he was the love of my life. My soulmate. I knew it. I just did. I felt it in my heart. He treated me so kindly and loved me in ways I never knew existed. And I fucked it up! I fucked it up. I fucked it all up.

No mother. No father. No love. No friends. No family. And not a care. Neglected. Rejected. Abandoned. Abused. Broken.

I tried. I tried so hard to survive. I can no longer. It’s time.

You know, I wanted to be a singer all my life. An artist, but I was always told it was a waste of time. I still would sing because if I didn’t, my soul would brittle. I leave today listening to one of my favorite artists of all time: Otis Redding. Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay. One of the last recordings he made before leaving this world tragically at the age of 26, same as me. I hope to see him on the other side and duet with him. That’s what I would like to think…

I wish you all the best. Thank you for taking the time to read my very summed up story about my life. Ever since I entered that tunnel, I had always wished for this very thing. Death. And I will finally make it come true today. Just know I wanted this ever since I was a kid. Things overall: Did not get better. And that’s okay.

It’s okay.

Signing off….

-A.R.C