Gloomy Sunday
Inspiration taken from the song “Gloomy Sunday,” originally composed by Rezső Seress and became well known after it was resung by Billie Holiday and others
For more information: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gloomy_Sunday#Overview
I sat in her room, remembering how her laughter echoed through the walls.
It was almost the same way she left it, only that the sheets had been changed and her carpet removed.
Not only did her time stop; everything else in this room did.
The only thing that changed was the dust that was collecting on the cabinets and other surfaces.
That Sunday evening should have been like every other evening.
The rain, which had been falling for hours, finally stopped.
I still remember how the air smelt. It was cold and crisp, which made my nose hurt a little.
Getting out of the car, I stepped into a small puddle of water and felt quite irritated.
I remember that because I was putting on the slippers she got me for my birthday.
The house was quiet, as if no one was home, but I knew she was because we all left her at home that day.
“Beth,” I called out as I entered the house, but there was no answer.
The house was dark, which was unusual, since the clouds outside were only just darkening. “Ah, ahn, is there no light?” I wondered aloud. But there was. A light was on upstairs.
“Sister Mi,” I shouted, while proceeding up the stairs. “Sister Mi, are you sleeping?’
No answer.
Her room door was slightly ajar, and that’s when I saw her.
She was lying on her back, her arms across her chest.
She looked so peaceful.
But seeing the blood coming out of her wrists broke me.
I wondered what drove her to the edge.
I blamed her for not talking to me.
Blamed her for hiding what she felt because she knew what she wanted to do and didn’t want anyone to stop her.
How did things get so bad?
When she first told me she was tired, I told her it was just exhaustion.
She kept talking about how things had changed, how she was only surviving, and whether she would ever be happy again.
I said to her, “Don’t talk like that. You’re happy. I know because I see you.”
But did I really?
I grew worried when she began waking up late and no longer changed her bedsheets regularly.
I would often catch her staring into space.
One day, she cut herself badly while chopping onions, yet she didn’t cry out in pain.
I think that was the point at which she stopped feeling anything at all.
She sat by my bed one day and expressed how tired she was
“You don’t get it. What is the point of struggling?” she said. “I see no way out.
“Why does life have to be so hard?”
“What is the point of living?”
“Everything is going to be fine,” I retorted. “It is just for a short time. This too shall pass.”
Day after day, her eyes got more sunken, and the light slowly disappeared from her eyes.
I should have noticed the signs. I should have known she was crying for help.
But I didn’t.
I never understood her pain, and now I never will.
I held her journal close, too scared to open it.
Because deep down, I still wanted her to be a villain.
I did not want to see my own fault, my negligence.
I did not want to believe she had a hard time deciding.
Now, I lay down on her bed, in the same position she was in,
Believing that if I tried hard enough, I would become her.
Feeling her pain and maybe, just maybe..
I would meet her again, on the side that offered her freedom.
Please note: This piece is for educational purposes only. We do not offer suicide prevention or resources at this moment.
If you are struggling or know anyone who is struggling, please check some resources below:
- Africa’s Crisis Centers and Hotlines: Africa’s Crisis Centres and Hotlines – Try Stress Management
- International Association for Suicide Prevention: Suicide Hotlines & Crisis Helplines | Free, 24/7 Chat, Text & Phone
- Nigeria Suicide prevention: https://nigeriasuicideprevention.com/contact/
- Suicide research and prevention initiative: SURPIN – Suicide Research and Prevention Initiative
- Smart Suicide Prevention Initiative: Contact — Smart Suicide Prevention Initiative
Featured Image by Photorama from Pixabay
