I wish I hadn’t done it. I wish I could deprive myself of this moment. I am glad I did it. I wish I could stay at peace forever.
I was too tired to remember my mistake. All it mattered was that my mom was yelling at me. She screamed louder and louder with every passing second. Her eyes looked at me mercilessly, her body shook with anger as she told me yet again.
“Why don’t you just die already?!”
“Why did I give birth to you?!”
I was brave and terrified. I stood strong to her words, even for a few seconds. I stood up to her. As if all of what she told me, didn’t matter. My heartbeat fastened but my pale face remained cold and indifferent.
I couldn’t hold on very long. I walked to the bathroom nearby as soon as she left. Two steps and I was already locked inside my apartment’s bathroom. My bag pack fell from my hands and my head trembled like it was struck by thunderous lightning. A tornado occurred in that small, coddled place that night. But the tornado seemed too small for anyone to help. Tears flew down my eyes as a flood carried along with a disastrous tornado. My head was congested, unable to think, unable to get rid of these feelings. Unable to scream, unable to ask for help, unable to help myself. My heart stood in turmoil. I shut my mouth tightly, making it impossible for my cries to escape.
I wasn’t scared of screaming. I was scared of coming out. Afraid to show my little siblings how disgustingly pathetic and vulnerable their older sister is. So, I shut myself quiet. I did well. No one came to check on my pathetic self.
Scared, without care about myself, I looked around, wandered and looked for something, anything sharp. My body shrugged with cold and my heart collided with any common sense left in my head. Indeed, I was going crazy.
Perhaps it was a twist of fate; no blade was in the washroom, none at all. But when have that ever stopped me? My thoughts ran at lightspeed. Millions and millions of insects crept up on my body. I needed to stop it or my head, body, and soul would burst into pieces. Luckily, my brain didn’t completely shut off. I stared at the glasses resting on the bridge of my nose. Seconds after, my vision went blurry. I had found my answer, my sharp object.
The next few minutes were spent scooping the right-handed prescription glass in my glass frame. Somehow, I managed to pull it out. I hurriedly threw the small glass on the floor to break it. Luck was on my side, or perhaps the prescription glass wasn’t of good quality. The latter weighs heavily considering my family’s financial instability. I broke the glass into two pieces. I firmly held the bigger glass piece in my right hand and without a second thought dragged it across my left wrist vertically. I did it again, and again, and again, and again, and a million times more.
Blood poked out of tiny cuts. I saw it drip down my wrist. But it wasn’t enough today, not enough at all. My eyes targeted the radial artery of my left wrist. I cut on the top part of my wrist. I cut again. Blood spiralled out of control. However, my head and heart remained in turmoil. I was determined to die today. The more I did it, the more helpless I felt, soon enough I had cut deep. Deep enough to see the carpal ligament being torn away.
It hurt, IT HURT! IT HURT!! IT HURT SO FUCKING MUCH!!!
My eyes draped over the dirty mirror. Slowly, I looked up and slowly, I shuddered at what I saw. In this room, in this world, alone I stood with an evil entity reflecting me. Fear began to spread all over me. It made love to my head. I wanted to run from this person. My head told me to run outside and shut my eyes close. However, I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed. The fear was holding tightly over my body as it raped every part of me. Unable to look away, my eyes examined the person that stood in the mirror. Her hair dishevelled, her eyes bloodshot and her lips quivered a few times before settling into a creepy smile. This person had complete control over me. I wasn’t alive anymore.
I shook my head but a permanent smile was plastered on my face. I tightened my grip on the broken glass and cut the white oozy ligament again. The deeper I could see the inside of my upper wrist, I cut. My head had lost all its senses. I forgot that with a thick broken piece of glass, I couldn’t die in peace. With every cut, I looked up to see myself. With each cut, the person standing in the mirror smiled. The entity was evil, so evil that I could not escape it. So, I gave in.
The little piece of broken glass murdered my body every time it dug deep into the precise spot on my upper wrist. I was determined to entirely disable my hand. But the more I went on, the more it hurt. My heart was settling down. However, the reflection in the mirror told me to keep doing it. It forced me to prick needles on my skin. With each move, my body now trembled. It shook with absolute pain. Millions of little needles poked inside my head. I was being crushed by a mountain of terror. My eyes blurred again and I saw the person in the mirror smile. She smiled so terrifyingly that just once, I wanted to shout out to my mom for help. I cut the white ligament as much as I could. However, the broken glass was too thick to pry any further into my bloody wrist.
One last time, I looked at the person standing opposite to me. I realized, there was no one else. It was just me, my soaking red eyes, my frizzy and crude hair. My frozen and pale lips acted as if they’d been thirsty for ages. Cautiously, I placed the bloody glass onto the sink and brought my right hand to my cheeks. Hot tears swarmed up my cheeks and my cruel hand trembled with fear. The person was me. The tired, sad me. The me that longed for love. The me that desired death more than anything. It was no one but me that gave me this terrifying pain.
I let the blood flow out of my wrist. I let my head be struck by a heavy mountain. However, that day, I didn’t let myself scream. I didn’t call out for help. I did well. I didn’t beg my mom for death. I killed myself first.