Double

Note: Contains mentions of self-harm, suicide and a reminder of your mortality.

Nobody wanted me. I mean, who would?

I was terrible at sports–as a goalie I let all the balls in—when demoted, I trailed my team forlornly, a hindrance to them! In class, despite once scoring above-average, now I was no longer the best. Good enough not to be mocked, average enough to stay under the teacher’s radar. During lunch, nobody invited me to sit with them unless their friend was absent, or even spoke to me unless they had to. I was always the second choice, the backup.

The best friend didn’t come to school today? Oh, let’s turn to Emilia for gossip and fun! Time for sports? Let’s take Max instead. He isn’t here? Okay, Emilia, join us! I didn’t do my homework! Sharon won’t help me, perhaps I’ll ask Emilia.

They all had someone else, someone stronger, smarter, better. And I, oh so lonely, remained in the shadows, collecting dust while the stars shone on the center stage. Until the stars no longer shine and they bring me out into the blinding lights, there a moment, then hidden in the shadows again.

And it wasn’t just school. Even at home, the pattern repeated itself.

Even as a family. I was the second choice. Being born first doesn’t mean being picked first. To Mother, Little Sister, a prefect with a shiny fancy pin was perfect. Little Brother, with a whole platoon of friends, was better. And I was none of those. Oh yes, I was kind—mostly. I was sociable— and got rejected in favour of someone else. I tried to please Mother, Father, so they’d love me. But all they saw was a daughter that won’t ever be of any worth compared to her younger, yet better, siblings. They never really saw their children as living beings, I guess. Just mere shiny trophies that sparkled.

And if that trophy sparkled less? Put her on the back shelf, tell her to be more shiny, better, first.

Every night, I cried myself to sleep, knowing this cold, hard fact. I’ll always be second. I will never be good enough for them. I was so so tired of it, but I’ll always be second. I didn’t have a choice.

That day, I was called to clean the whiteboard. Second, of course. Ms Linda had already called Louisa to clean it before me. I merely had to scrub the rest of the dried, flaking blue ink that was left—barely any. Even in the small, trivial things, I was second. Obviously. I had to chuckle at the thought.

I scrubbed the rest of the flaking ink away, before shouldering my red school bag. Louisa and I were the only ones left in class now. I strode quickly to the open doorway, looking forward to the prospect of the solitude of my room. Ms Linda’s voice rang out behind me, “Louisa, Emilia, wait, I’d like to speak to you.”

I slowed my steps, halted, one hand on the doorway as I turned back. “Yes?”

Ms Linda was talking to Louisa. Great, I’ll have to wait for her to finish. I leaned against the frame, eyeing Louisa as her face brightened, my foot tapping out an impatient rhythm on the cold linoleum floor. Tap tap-tap tap, tap tap-tap tap. Then Louisa came over, gold curls bouncing as she quipped. “Such a pity that you’ll remain second. I’ve been promoted to Prefect.” She turned on her heel smugly, the whiff of vanilla trailing behind her as I reeled at the low blow. I really hoped Ms Linda had some good news for me…maybe I won first place in the science fair? I had put in a lot of effort.

But Ms Linda looked at me pityingly, murmuring. “You know, Emilia, if it makes you feel better, that it was a pretty close call, yeah? I mean, Louisa just got one more vote. It’s nothing, really. You’ll get the position if she resigns.” Ms Linda nodded wisely. I doubt she really meant it.

Then, her face brightened, tone squeaky and high in a poor attempt to sound upbeat. “On a brighter note, you won second place in the science fair. Isn’t that wonderful?” I shrugged. Wonderful for you, maybe.

Ms Linda’s face fell at my nonchalance, as she waved me away, grumbling under her breath the moment she thought I was out of earshot, “Luckily Emilia is only the backup…”

That stung, a lot. This is what you get for hoping, I chided myself. But it was nothing compared to Mother’s reaction. She took one look at the certificate, and scoffed, “Good? Good? Do you expect me to sing high praises to the heavens? Your sister won first place in her first science fair. And you, proud to be second?? Emulate your little sister once in a while, will you? See , that is why I signed her up for music lessons, and not you! You can’t even cope with school!”

Her words seemed to pierce my heart, an unending pain that I always kept locked up bursting through me.Like someone was carving me out from inside. I sprinted to my room, fleeing this cruel place where nobody understood me. Not even my parents.

I threw myself on the bed, clean sheets rumpling as I curled up into a ball, desperate to contain that pain. No more, please, I begged to the high heavens. I suppose that they’ll listen to someone else first. I’m not important enough, and I have had enough of it. I was a person! A human being! Someone with thoughts and feelings and the hunger to be first. Still outshined.

The cool wetness was just allergies from the dust. Not hot, streaming tears that ran rivulets down my cheeks. The choked sound was me stifling a sneeze. Not a sob that I was desperate to keep hidden. I wasn’t reduced to tears with mere words. Especially not these words that echoed through my mind no matter how much I tried.

Second, number two, second, not good enough. Second second second.

I buried my head in the pillow, allowing one silent scream, the pillow stained with moist tears. I was so tired of never being enough. I padded out of my pink-wallpapered room—unchanged for as long as I could remember—past the cool pine floorboards that creaked in the winter, to the blue-tiled kitchen. My hands shook with the prospect of what I was about to do as I approached the weathered pine cabinet.

Mother and Father had gone out—to celebrate Annabelle’s entry into the school swimming team. They brought Jeremy with them—of course they forgot me. I was never worthy of their attention and love. Perhaps once upon a time, I was first, the apple of their eye. Perhaps when they saw me, their eyes would light up with a joyful sparkle of love. They loved conditionally, but parents should love unconditionally. At least, where I was going, I wouldn’t be the backup anymore.

Who cares about university in a month? It’s still going to be as bleak as my present. Who cares about family? They never cared for me—at least, not until I was good enough for them. Shakily, I reached up on my tiptoes to the top shelf—Mother had underestimated me.

My finger scrabbled around the wood, finally brushing across the smooth surface of a cool bottle. I curled my fingers over it, sliding it off the shelf. The label on the stout bottle was red, full of tiny text and precautions—Mother’s sleeping pills. I checked the drug—Pentobarbital, it read, in bold, red letters.

I tapped the half-full bottle with my nail, a tinkling sound ringing melodiously out. Unscrewing the cap revealed round, milky pills with a yellow tinge. A sickly sweet scent wafted out, foul and medicinal. I tapped out a few of the pills onto my hands—is five enough? I didn’t know. But better be safe than sorry. I poured three more into my slick palm. Then I replaced the lid on the bottle and placed it back on the top shelf. Pouring myself a glass of water, I popped a pill into my mouth, choking it down with a swallow. I waited a bit, then took another dose.

I was starting to feel drowsy. I stumbled to my room, the green wallpaper spinning around me. I paused at the bathroom’s doorframe, leaning my aching head on the cool white tiles. I swallowed another pill, saliva thick and clotted. My breathing grew shallow, as the walls seemed to split into two, then threes and fours. My fingers, once clenched tight around the remaining pills, were slippery as they loosened. The pills fell to the smooth bathroom floor, scattering in all directions. “No…no…”

I crumpled to the floor, on my knees, black hair falling over my face as I scrabbled for these precious pills. Not when freedom was so close. Second second second. That accursed chant was at it again, tears prickling my eyes. No longer the backup, no longer the second choice. I pinched a pill I found by the sink, preparing to gulp it down. I heaved myself up, gripping the sink as I staggered, my balance waning, I closed my eyes briefly, nursing a headache at my temples. Second second second. My eyes flew open. Shut up, brain. I won’t be second for much longer.

Only the backup, the voice in my head whispered maliciously. That’s it, I was going insane. I was confused, my thoughts hazy and slow as I met the electric blue eyes of my reflection. She looked haggard, worn….but also resilient? Her reflection morphed, her eyes now bright and shining with opportunities, smile confident because she had known her lowest and moved on.

What was I doing? Lightning spiced through the fog. What was I doing?

I leaned over the toilet, retching. I didn’t want to die, I realised. I was going to live. And with that thought, the poison plattered out, vile orange vomit. Then I flushed it away, rinsed myself, and decided to move on.

I’m not giving up today. I’ll live, but on my own terms. I will be first, to myself…because maybe, all this time, I was just second to me. I realised. As long as I didn’t hurt anybody. To me, life only happens once, so I’d live it to the full, won’t wallow in the past, but fix it as I look to the future. Don’t try to throw it away by killing yourself—living is worth it. And so, as I walked through the grand gates of my dream university, I didn’t look back. I finally let them go—I wasn’t their second choice anymore.