Self blame

{DISCLAIMER}:

[This story is a bit more sensitive with mental illness, suicide, and self-harm! Viewer discretion is heavily advised.]

"Hey, Kinglsey!" A voice calls out from behind me. It's a familiar voice, Brad. I turn around, smiling immediately at the friendly face. "What's up, Brad?" I ask him, happy to see him. "Im doing great! How about you, Kingsley?"

I chuckle, "Im doing pretty good." "Oh, that's good, Kingsley." I chuckle again, this time a little bit nervously. "What's wrong, Kingsley?" Brad asked, having sensed my uneasiness. "You keep saying my name. Like, a lot." He pauses for a moment, "So?" I shrug, "I dont know, it's not something you normally do, so it's. different, I guess?"

Brad nods, "Well, it's part of an exercise, to help me remember things, like names, to repeat them more often." I felt confused. Brad never had memory problems; matter of fact, he could remember practically anything, except rumors. he was weird with that, and always stayed in the middle, not picking a side.

"Do you have memory problems all of a sudden?" I ask, inquisitively. But he shakes his head, "No, I suppose I'm just practicing for later in life?" I paused, unsure what to say, before I settled on. "Uh, well, ok then."

"Hey, Kingsley, what do you want to do?" I tilt my head, and I think for a moment whilst making a "Hmm" sound. There were 3 pretty solid options off the top of my head. Number 1. Walking and talking. Number 2. Playing video games at my place. Or number 3... wait, what was the third option again?

Brad spoke, and cut me out of my intense thinking. "How about we just walk and talk before you break your brain trying to think." I looked at him, "Uh, ok then. That sounds good!" I say, enthusiastically.

I lead the way, going down the streets, heading toward the greenbelt. "So, how's life treating you?" I ask Brad, "Same old, same old. You know how it is." I chuckle, "Yeah, I get it." Brad asks me the same question, "Well, how about you? How's life treating you?" I sigh, "Not so great, Brad."

He goes silent for a moment before asking, "Well, do you wanna talk about it?" I nod, "Then talk to me, dude. What's wrong?" I sigh again, somehow feeling weighed down physically by this, but I say, "Well, my grandpa just committed suicide, and my grandma just lost to her cancer."

Brad is silent for a moment. "Why did your grandpa kill himself?" I pause for a moment, knowing the truth, but not wanting to say it, in fear that it might be wrong. Brad senses my feelings and stops walking, grabbing my shoulders and making me look at him. "Dude, tell me."

I take a deep breath in before I say. "My grandpa was a good person, but he didn't know how to deal with his emotions or feelings. Grandma had cancer for a year, after being diagnosed with it, and was told she would die within a week."

Brad pauses, "So why did your grandpa kill himself then?" I look up from the ground and look at him. "He didn't want to die alone. Grandma's health was dropping dramatically. He shot himself 2 nights before she died." Brad's face seemed to change somehow, but it didn't move at all.

"Well, I guess that means your grandpa was just a selfish piece of shit then." I take a step back, "What?!" I exclaim in confusion and anger. "No! He saved plenty of people! He was afraid, and couldn't do it anymore!"

Brad's eyes flickered with something I haven't seen before. "So, it's your fault then?" I was stunned. "What?" He responds, "Well, if he was such a good person, how come you didn't bother to see the signs that he was suffering?" I try to cut him off, "No, stop."

But he keeps talking. "It's your fault he shot himself, isn't it? Now your dad is depressed again, isn't he?" "Stop, you're wrong!" I yell, "Oh, yeah? How? Tell me, now." He says with an eerie confidence. "Because I wasn't able to see him for a year." He retorts immediately, "You had his number, didn't you? Plus, he took you to his house a lot for a year, keeping you happy. Could you not do the same?"

"Shut up!" I yell, "Make me." He says, with a grin on his face. "Or, maybe you should do what he did. Make it even?" "No, I'm not responsible for a 40-year-old man who couldn't survive his own mind. Im 15-" Brad cuts me off. "Exactly, you're old enough to take care of others, including yourself. Who cares if it happened when you were 13? You're still capable of saving others, aren't you?"

"I can't save everyone, because im not a fucking god!" Brad grins wider, "No, you're just not good enough. You've saved a total of 3 people from suicide. Now, you've let 2 die." I shake my head, "No, I didn't let them die, I just couldn't stop them." Brad yells out, with poison and malice in his voice. "Because you're not good enough, and you'll never be good enough! You're worthless!"

I punch him, but my fist goes right through him, as if he wasn't actually there. "Wh-what?" I stutter out. Brad grins wider, his eyes shine with malice. "Everyone hates you, and everyone wants you dead. You're absolutely. Worthless."

I shake my head and close my eyes, trying to will him away. "That's not going to work anymore. How could you forget that I killed myself, too? Because you weren't there. You couldn't even help your best friend." I hear my grandpa,

"You couldn't save us." They say in unison. Brad: "Dont you care about me?" Grandpa: "I thought you loved me, after everything I did for you. You just abandon me?" I speak, "I tried my best, and sometimes there is no saving someone!" Suddenly, I feel a cold thin line against my arm.

As I look down, I see a knife in my right hand, on my left arm, cutting. I can't stop myself from cutting deeper and deeper. Brad: "You know you deserve this. You can't even save yourself anymore. Worthless burden."

Soon, I hear sirens behind me. It makes sense, im cutting my flesh, bleeding deeply, in public. I feel woozy, the blood loss, getting severe, and enough to make me pass out.

The next place I wake up is in the hospital. a blood drip next to me, feeding me fresh, and much-needed blood. My left arm is covered in stitches. The nurse walks in. "Is your name Kingsley?" She asks. I nod, "Yes, that's me." She sat in front of me, her eyes filled with concern and curiosity. "Who's Brad?"

I pause. My eyes flicker down to my lap for a moment before returning to her eyes. "Brad was my friend. But he killed himself a week ago." She nodded. "Why did you do it?" I looked at her, afraid the nightmare wasn't over. "D-do what?" She glanced at my left arm.

"Oh." I pause for a minute. Trying to figure out why. "I. I don't know. My body just. Did that." The nurse grabs a bracelet from the side table. "Kingsley, have you been taking your meds?" I sigh. "No. I dont have enough money."

She hands me my medicare bracelet, and I look at the word.

Schizophrenic.