Free

I thought that suicide was the only way to set myself free. There was nothing left to do. I tried repairing broken relationships. I tried to make myself feel useful. I tried to reconnect with the world, and I even tried therapy.

Nothing worked. 

It was 10:00 pm on a Tuesday evening. I had nothing. All of my friends had moved away a couple of years ago. My family basically gave up on me and my depression. They bought me this small, crappy apartment that I’ve despised, but it was better than living on the streets, I guess.

I had lost my job at the laundromat a week before, but I didn’t like it anyway. I used to play piano, and sing, and go on vacations, and visit museums, and art galleries.

But I couldn’t do any of that anymore.

It was clear that I hated my life, and everything about it. I had made so many mistakes in the past — so many I wasn’t able to fix — that I didn’t want to waste any more time.

I didn’t want to ruin any more lives.

I didn’t want to stay on Earth any longer.

The decision wasn’t difficult to make, and it sure wouldn’t be hard to execute. I realized that eliminating myself from this world and from this universe as a whole was just my fate. My destiny. My purpose.

I was just a lost soul.

The strangest memory crossed my mind. My friends used to practice rituals, and ceremonies. Not just any ritual or ceremony. Ones that can apparently bring people back from the dead, heal wounds, and most importantly, they claimed, set one free, but I was never sure what that one meant. I called it the stupidest thing in the world, because it was. The whole thing was stupid and childish, and a huge waste of time. All I remember was that they were able to set up anywhere, whether it be at sleepovers, in an attic, or at a bar. There was a pub I’d go to with my friends, that played loud country music, and the people there drank frothy drinks. Even if I wanted to do the ritual, I wouldn’t know where to start. So there was only one thing left to do.

I ran over to my bathroom cabinet and searched for any kind of pill. Once I found the right one, I filled a glass with water, turned off all of the lights, sat down on my stained carpet, and began.

I closed my eyes for a while. Until I realized that I was ready to go. I was ready to be free.

I couldn’t live another day here.

I just couldn’t.

I held the pill up to my lips. I don’t know why I was hesitant. I wish it was simpler. I wish that I could take a nap and never wake up.

Before I could swallow it, a lamp turned on. 

I had been sitting across the room. I tried not to let it bother me, but it did. I walked over and turned it off. 

I sat back down, and checked my watch.

I had to do this. Now.

I closed my eyes again. There wasn’t much time. I stuck the pill onto my tongue, and kept it there for a while. I thought about how many people I’d be helping if I left. How much better and brighter the world would be without me in it.

But then I started to think about what I’d miss. What I’d miss about Earth. 

I shooed that thought away like a mosquito. 

Mosquitoes. That reminded me of the old cottage I used to go to with my friends. We would swim in the lake during the day, and roast marshmallows at night. We got drunk near the fire, and laughed as we slapped the mosquitos off of our bare legs.

A tear escaped from my eye, and I wiped it away quickly. 

The universe was trying to distract me, but I wouldn't let it.

I held my glass of water up to my mouth, ready to swallow. I was ready.

Just then, a street lamp turned on outside. I got up and closed the curtains.

Then my phone’s flashlight. 

Then my dishwasher.

Then my sink.

Something was wrong. I got up, stuffed the bottle of pills into my pocket, pulled on my shoes, and opened my apartment door. I looked down the long hallway. The lights began to flicker gently.

I slowly walked down, watching as they turned on and off. A loud buzzing noise came from them. I had to get out of there. Could no one else hear it?

Maybe I was going crazy.

I pushed the doors open to the street. It was cold, and the moon hung low over the big city. I waited by the door and caught my breath. Looking to my left, I noticed something. Something that I recognized. The country music was loud, and the people outside drank frothy drinks. Then I realized. It was a pub. It was the pub.

The one where my friends and I would get drunk and they’d perform their famous rituals to impress everyone. I was always embarrassed, but staring through that window, I missed it. I missed standing in the corner, and rolling my eyes while I laughed at them. 

The inside of the pub looked warm, full, and busy. I was hesitant to open the big, wooden doors. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go back there. I grasped the handle with my shaky hand. I had to go in. I had to.

I walked inside, and the music was louder than I remembered. There were people everywhere, and my claustrophobic self walked over to the end of the bar so I wouldn’t have to be squished in with everyone else.

I was lucky to get a seat. I ordered one of the frothy drinks, and when it was ready, I took a sip. The jug was cold in my hands, and it still tasted the same as it did years ago. I couldn’t believe that my friends had sat right there, in the middle of the dance floor, with their cards and candles and whatever they needed for their stupid ritual.

Maybe if I closed my eyes, they’d be back. Right there. 

But no. They were gone.

There was nothing I could do to get them back. I’ve 

tried messaging, I’ve tried calling, I’ve even tried writing letters. Still, nothing worked. I then remembered something.

I remembered how I got myself into this mess.

It was August. My friends and I were at a concert in the middle of town. I forgot what it was called.

The moon was out, and the sky was dark, only dimly lit by street lamps and stage lights.

The music was loud, and with every beat my heart jumped. I suddenly felt something inside of my stomach. A bad, depressed feeling. Those scary thoughts about suicide crossed my mind once in a while, but that night they didn’t stop. I remembered losing control. I began to yell at my friends. 

I couldn’t talk or walk straight. My words were slurred and my mind twisted. I was unsure if I was drunk, or just going through something. One of my good friends tried to get close to me, but I felt an urge. A rush of anger ran through my body. I pushed her so hard that she fell to the ground. 

I snapped out of the memory, feeling more suicidal than ever. I was ready to head back to my apartment and finish what I started, when I overheard a group of teenage girls talking about a concert. A concert in the middle of town.

They began to make their way out of the wooden doors. I couldn’t help but follow. I knew my friends wouldn’t be there, but that wasn’t the reason.

I dug through my pocket, and found the bottle of pills.

I thought that the best way to leave this Earth would be to die in the spot where my life changed for the worse. Because after all, this is where I was supposed to be. I was sure of it.

I followed them all the way to the concert, allowing the cool air to enter my lungs. I stopped when I found the exact spot where it happened. Flashbacks hit me like giant boulders. I felt so disappointed and afraid of myself. I felt like the worst person on the planet. 

I used to have the best life anyone could ever ask for.

A loving family, the kindest friends, a roof over my head, food and water, and most importantly, a will to live. I barely had any of those things anymore. 

If I was going to do it now, I might as well take the opportunity, and do it right. 

I walked all the way over to the main stage. I dodged security, and made sure no one could see me. I climbed up the few stairs, and once the singer ran off of the stage, I ran on.

The bright lights stung my eyes, and the cold air ran shivers down my spine. Goosebumps began to bud all over my arms. The people stared back at me with confused faces. But I didn’t care.

I sat down criss crossed, and pulled the pill bottle out of my pocket. I wouldn’t need water. I was ready.

Before I did it, and before security could catch me, I thought about my life. I didn’t know if I had wasted it, or completed it in its entirety. I thought about everything that I wouldn’t have anymore. I wouldn’t be able to play piano, or sing, or go on vacations, or visit museums and art galleries. Even though I was alone, I would miss the pub and its loud country music, and how the people outside drank their frothy drinks. I would miss my small, crappy apartment that I despised.

But I was ready.

I closed my eyes, and let the pill rest on my tongue. I was ready to leave Earth. I was ready to no longer ruin lives. I was ready to set myself free.

Just then, I heard shouting from the crowd. I opened my eyes, and I saw a group of people. People I recognized. People who used to swim with me in the lake. People who used to roast marshmallows and slap mosquitoes off of their legs. People who used to get drunk and impress everyone with their rituals at the pub. My friends.

The street lamp and stage lights shut off, and it was pitch black. Everyone assumed it was part of the concert, and began to clap in unison. Like they were clapping for me.

Me. The person who no one would want to applaud.

Someone climbed up the stairs to the stage, and suddenly I wasn’t alone. 

They placed candles all around me in a circular shape, and lit them one by one. I felt the warmth of each flame. Everyone could see me. They didn’t stop clapping.

Another one of my friends laid a card on top of each candle, and they began to light up. None of them were close enough to touch me. 

I tried to talk, but they hushed me, and when I reached for my pills, they took them from me. 

Instead of getting upset, I stayed there, staring out at the crowd. It seemed like the entire city was watching me. I had no idea what was going to happen next.

I took that time to think. Not to just think, but understand. I understood why all of this was happening to me. It wasn’t just fate that I didn’t die that night. It wasn’t destiny. It was the people I met. The decisions I made. There were thousands of mistakes along the way, but those mistakes happened for a reason. A reason that is greater than us all. Because the truth was, I wasn’t ready to leave my family. I wasn’t ready to leave my friends. I wasn’t ready to stop playing piano. I wasn’t ready to stop singing. I wasn’t ready to not visit museums and art galleries. I wasn’t ready to leave this Earth. I was never meant to be.

But I was ready to start fresh. I was ready to fix broken relationships. I was ready to become useful, and I was ready to reconnect with the world.

I was ready. In a way I never would have deemed myself to be.

Because I thought that suicide was the only way to set myself free.

I was wrong.

Very wrong.