The Weight of Silence

“I want to kill myself,” I said as I stared at the mirror.

Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t be awake right now. 

Death is not what frightens me, but the thought that I would regret it. 

That is why I keep living. Hoping I would find happiness

“If I had ended my life when I was 11, I wouldn’t be going through this.”

This has been my mantra for the longest time.

“I had planned it all out in a vision.”

I paused. 

“The idea of eternal rest offers me a kind of comfort I have never felt.

But I never imagined how uncomfortable it made those around me feel. 

To me, it was a way to keep me going, a little burst of strength that helps me get through the day.

But to my loved ones, it was a warning. 

A reminder that one day I’ll vanish by my own hands, leaving them to pick up the broken pieces.”

Death seems like an escape, a way for me to say “I want out”. 

Out of this world, where I feel nothing but pain. 

Pain that cannot be explained, 

Pain that seems to have no origin.

I keep being asked, “Why?” 

But I have no answer. It is just the way I feel.

It’s the knot in my throat I can never loosen 

The thoughts that keep me up at night. 

“The people I love try to support me and constantly tell me it’s okay to feel what I feel, not having a reason for it.  

And this makes me feel guilty. 

I try to ignore the sadness in their eyes when they look at me. 

Or how they tend to walk on eggshells around me.”

“I want to be better for them, and maybe I’ll be better for me. 

I want to go outside, look up at the sky, and see how beautiful the world is. 

I want to wake up happy for once, looking forward to what the day might bring.

I want to be someone’s comfort, not a ticking time bomb.

I want to be happy, I want to be me.” 

The lady sitting in the chair across from me wrote a few more words in her notebook. 

Then she set it aside and said, “Shall we begin?’ 

Featured Image by Vika_Glitter from Pixabay