Fading Away
Page 2
on me like fire. She rushed me to the hospital; only to find out I had taken just over three times the recommended dose of the diet pills I kept hidden in my dresser. This was probably supposed to be my turning point. I was supposed to get better.
As I sat on the cold hospital bed waiting out the effects of what I had just done, the nurse came in to ask her questions. As she talked to me, she noticed my wrist. I had kept this fact hidden. After all, who wants to be caught? Who wants to be held hostage in a hospital for something they had no intention of stopping? I sure didn’t. She asked me why. I had no answer. At that moment, she left the room only to return with a social worker. They both started staring at me, with pity in their eyes. After a few more questions, the social worker told me that I was going to be transferred to a psychiatric hospital for a 5150, a 72-hour hold. I immediately broke down and cried. This was not what I wanted. This is not how I wanted to get help. I tried to tell them no, tried to tell them it was a mistake, that I was fine. Nothing I said mattered; I was going regardless.
The hospital was horrible. I was being held prisoner again, only it wasn’t just in my head this time, it was real. While they kept me locked in this horrid place, I met Jennifer. She had been in numerous group homes, and was constantly going AWOL from them. That wasn’t quite what put her there. She had some serious anger issues and it showed in everything she did. We began to rely on each other. I tried to keep her calm and it worked mostly. I wanted to see her get out, even if it meant I was alone. We had a game we played. No one noticed, I wonder how. It was our game. We would pinch, kick and hit each other. It wasn’t as if we were fighting. We kept it quiet and no one knew. She was my other half. Six days after being admitted I was released, with a brand new diagnosis and all new medications.
This was only a week ago, though it feels much longer.
Today, I’ve reached my breaking point. I saw pictures of the old house, the one in which my abuse began. The second I saw it, the memories I had kept locked away came rushing back like waves on a shore. I couldn’t stop them. I saw his face. The dark eyes that hid the secrets of what he’d done. My chest began to feel tight; I could almost feel him holding me down. Instantly tears swelled in my eyes and ran down my cheeks. I got up slowly from where I had been sitting and went to my room. I was alone; there was no one here to comfort me. There was no one here to take my mind away from the relentless memories. I laid in my bed, under my covers trying to push out the thoughts that wouldn’t leave. It wasn’t helping. I got up from my bed and searched through my dresser until I found what I was looking for. My hidden friend was now staring at me. I took the razor back to my bed and began to carve into my wrist, as if allowing the blood to fall would release the thoughts I’ve kept at bay for so long. As I lay bleeding, I realized it wasn’t helping. I needed something more. I got up again, allowing the blood to create a trail as I walked to the room in which I knew the pills were contained. I opened the door and went straight to my father’s bedside table. I grabbed out the bottles that were in the drawer and retreated to my room. I ignored the blood trail I left on the carpet as I walked. I didn’t care that I was making a mess. No one would notice. They never do anymore. It’s would seem that they’ve locked my problems in a closet and forgot about them.
I opened all three of the bottles and poured them on the bed sheet. I put them in groups of ten and looked around the room for something to drink. Everything was blurry, an effect of the tears I assumed. I got up, grabbed the cup of juice off my dresser, and sat back down to stare at the neat little groups spread across the sheet of my bed. I picked up one and began to pop them into my mouth one at a time, and then the rest, washing them down with the juice. I continued in this way until every one of them was gone. I barely made it through them all, trying my hardest to keep them from coming back up. I lay down and stared at the ceiling as I waited for the memories to leave and time to blur.
All of a sudden, I felt off, not like any of the other times. The memories hadn’t left but I couldn’t focus on them either. My limbs felt numb. I got up and tried to walk it off but I fell as I got up. That was how I ended up here, in the darkest corner of my room, dying. My body began to pulsate and I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
Should I scream? Would anyone hear me? Where was everyone, why weren’t they home yet? This isn’t what was supposed to happen. The memories were just supposed to be gone. I wasn’t supposed to be feeling this way. This is not my solace, not my peace.
I feel my heart speed up and stutter. I feel my chest heave as my body tried to save itself. My breathing sped up and I was soon gasping. I really don’t understand what is happening. Then it hit me, I am dying and there is no one here to save me. There was no one around to save me from the horrors of Uncle John’s abuse, and there’s no one here to save me from my own demise. I can’t even feel my tears roll down my face at this point. I can’t feel the floor underneath me. It feels as if I’m falling and there’s nothing stopping me from melting into nothing. Finally, my heart sped up and then, nothing.
Silence.
***
Alone, locked away in the mind of a 15 year old girl
Are thoughts of suicide and pain
The cuts on her wrists are signs of weakness
She hides her pain with a smile
But late at night, she lets go
She cries for hours at a time
Never letting anyone know
Pretending by day, saying everything’s okay
Until one night,
cut so deep it bled and bled
Sirens blew
Lights flashed
a life wasted, a life lost
She never turned 16
The pain was too much
She resorted to cutting
And bled to death
She forever will be missed
a 15-year-old girl’s life lost to the thoughts never released...
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About the Author
Alyssa Novak born and raised in California. She is currently a college student, mother and fiance,and enjoys the simple things in life. She thrives to build her joy of writing into more than just a way to pass time.
More works from this author coming soon.
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