Goodbye Forever

TW: Suicide: This is a completely fictional story, any similarity of story or characters to real life events is unintentional. This is intended to raise some awareness, because any situation can cause someone to doubt their worth and value to those who love them.

Well, today is the day. The last day. The day that I will finally be free. Free from all of the pain, from the stress, from the hurt, from the indifference... free from everything, honestly. I am looking forward to this freedom, to this release. I am so tired... so exhausted with everything. Today is the day that it ends. Today is the day I have been planning this for ages, slowly, but as sure as the rising of the sun.

I am sure that many people will wonder why I took so long to do this, but, to be honest, there was a time that I did not want to go. A time that I felt I had no reason to leave. A time that I believed that anything was possible, and I kept telling myself that this tough time would not last, that things would get better. That I would get better.

To give you some background, I was diagnosed with cancer four years ago. When I first received the diagnosis, I was optimistic. I know that may not be a normal reaction to something like that, but I had heard so many stories from so many people about how they had survived cancer, how they had gone into remission, and how the cancer had never come back. I thought that it was possible that that would happen to me. After all, I was young, I had been extremely healthy up until that point, and I had faith. A lot of good that did.

I mean, I did have times of remission, and these times fostered my little seed of faith, growing until I was certain that I would be healed. That I would get well. The doctors, practical as always, told me that this remission and and regression was a normal course. That it did not mean I would get better. They would tell me over and over again not to be so optimistic. That the cancer would come back, and with this form, it would come back more aggressive each time. Did I listen? No, of course not. They were only dragging me down. If I stopped believing, then the cancer would win.

So I kept living my life, continuing on just like I was a normal, not terminally ill, teenager. I went to parties, I went to junior prom, I had my first love. But in the end, none of it mattered. It did not matter how hard I tried to pretend that everything was fine, the cancer was still there. It kept coming back. It made me tire out quickly, causing me to get left behind, whether it was on a hike, a shopping trip, or... well, anything, really. It made me have excruciating pain, making others feel extremely uncomfortable around me when I was having an especially rough day.

It got even worse when I began chemo. I lost all of my hair, and in an attempt to defy the cancer yet again, I wore my bald head proudly, hoping that everyone would see it as my battle cry. That I was not giving up and they shouldn't either. I was wrong, it was a mistake. Wearing my head bald had the exact opposite effect. Instead of being hopeful, the kids at school began telling me that I wasn't going to make it. They told me I looked sick. That I looked tired. That I looked ugly. And after that, they avoided me, and acted like I didn't exist.

My family wasn't much better. They didn't bolster my faith, or my strength. They didn't show any hope. Instead, they were quiet and didn't seem to be able to even look at me without crying. It was so draining, trying to pretend everything was all right, trying to pretend life was normal, all in a vain attempt to keep my family together. Mom and Dad still split up. And even after that, I heard whispers about them going into debt. My siblings began distancing themselves from me, as though they believed they could somehow 'catch' my cancer.

I began going to my appointments alone, calling an Uber to get me there. I began feeling weaker, alone. Trying to feel more alive, I began skipping school. I tried going on walks, hiking, going to the zoo. All of this to try to figure out why I kept hanging on. Why I kept fighting for my life, even though life clearly wasn't worth living anymore.

It got to the point where no one was talking to me. I would get home at one o'clock in the morning, and no one was sitting up waiting for me. I came to school, and no one, not even the teachers, knew I was there. There was no point to my life anymore.

That's when I began forming my plan. I figure that today, all of their troubles will be over. Mom and Dad can get back together, and they won't have money problems anymore. My siblings won't have to worry about whether or not I'm contagious. And no one will have to worry about when I will die.

I have everything ready. All I have to do now is say goodbye. Or should I even say goodbye? I've tried everything to tell them I need them. I've told them goodbye. I've told them I was leaving. I've tried to tell them that I don't know where to go from here. But have they listened? No. Someone always starts talking over me, or tells me I'll be fine. That I need to stop worrying, it's bad for my health. I've tried to tell them I want someone with me at my appointments, but no one comes, and they don't care to hear what the diagnosis is.

No. No more goodbyes. If I went to say goodbye, and they ignored or interrupted me again, I couldn't handle it. I'd blurt out my plan. I've tried already. It's time to go. It's time to get out of their lives, and end my own. That's all that's left for me to do. No more goodbyes. No more cancer. No more me.