And I Surrender

(Trigger warning: suicidal thoughts, self-harm)

I’ve known the darkness. I mean, I’ve truly known it. Like a needle knows a bloodstream. Like a bullet knows the barrel of a gun. I’ve lived in the darkness and allowed it to consume me. My desensitized spirit has fallen victim to the catcalls that it spews, resigning to a love affair I never wanted. I lay there handcuffed, hostage, as the darkness holds the key. All my life, I’ve lived in a bubble. Sheltered. Painstakingly sheltered. Why? The darkness crept in nonetheless, like a thief in the night. It found me and it showed me exactly how dark this life can truly be. And I surrender.

           “Fuck!” My mascara burns my bloodshot eyes as I sit cross-legged behind my coffee table, writing feverishly on a piece of paper. Bella Rowe’s Last Will and Testament is etched in my crummy handwriting across the top. My apartment is dark, so I can’t see how much mascara comes off as I wipe my tears. I can only assume my eyelashes have bled themselves dry of their faux-black coating. The only light that’s present is the static flickering of my television set. It’s showing a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show. The channel doesn’t come in very well, so there’s a lightning bolt of pre-satellite frustration running straight through Barney’s face.

           My phone lights up on the table, casting a glow against the darkness. A text message. It’s from my best friend, Lydia. It’s the seventh one she’s sent in the last hour. She’s following up on the plans we made last week to have brunch tomorrow. I pull my knees to my chest, resting my chin against my exposed skin. The prickly stabs of my unshaven legs against my face hurt. At least, I think they do. I can’t really feel much anymore.

           Brunch sounds perfect. Café Giovanni, tomorrow at 11? I type in my chipper reply. Hell, I even add the emoji of the girl dancing in a red dress. It seems random and pointless to me, but I’m sure Lydia will like it. Within seconds she replies with an enthusiastic affirmation of our plans, plans that I instantaneously dread. I sigh as I toss my phone upon my sofa. I slide across the hardwoods; I don’t bother to lift my feet. My fuzzy socks enable my laziness and aide my stoic shuffle. I leave Andy humming to himself in the living room.

           “Sweet dreams, Bella.” I coo to myself as I curl up in my bed. My floral sheets and neatly pressed white bedspread cradle me like a baby. The fetal position is my go-to these days. It’s supposed to be calming, comforting. “Tomorrow’s a new day.” And with that, I turn out my bedside lamp and am once again surrounded by the darkness. And I surrender.

           The next morning, I awaken to bright sunlight streaming through my mini-blinds. I can hear a bird chirping on the flower box outside my window. Apparently he like’s my perennials. At least someone does. I shrug. I crawl out of bed and meander to my bathroom. There’s a steady flow of sunlight in there too. I stare at my reflection for a while. My cheeks are stained with mascara from the tears I shed last night. My eyes are red and tired, and my hair is poorly tied up with a rubber band. No one would recognize me, not even my mother.

           I step out of the shower a few long minutes later. My freshly washed black hair falls to the tops of my shoulder blades, sending droplets of lavender scented water down the small of my back. My face is now void of the mascara from yesterday, and my eyes look refreshed from the eye drops I used before I bathed. I spend the next half-hour getting ready for brunch. Once my hair is dry, I run a wide barrel brush through it. I dot my face with powders and creams. A fresh coat of black elongates my lashes again and my icy blue eyes no longer look so small. I swipe red gloss across my lips and secure a silver clasp around my wavy locks, creating a half-up, half-down look. Lastly, I pad across the bedroom to my closet, letting my bathrobe collapse around my ankles. I find a feminine lilac sundress and decide that it’ll do. I have a pair of white wedges that will match this well enough.

           “Ready.” I say aloud. I stand before my full-length mirror, gazing at my reflection. The woman before me is gorgeous. She’s toned and tan, her sundress hugs her curves like paint on a racetrack. Her hair falls in gentle curls around her face that is perfectly dolled up with Tarte and Urban Decay. She is poised and elegant, there’s a glow about her and she seems… serene. She moves like I do. Her breasts rise and fall with each breath that I take. Her lips form a lunar line as I frown. Sure enough, the woman in my reflection is me, but I don’t recognize her anymore. Maybe it’s the sadness in her eyes. Maybe it’s the scars that caress the delicate skin of her upper thighs, painted there by her own hand and a blade she hoped would heal her. Whatever it is, I don’t recognize her anymore.

           It takes me four minutes and twenty-three seconds to walk to the café where I’m meeting Lydia. Exactly the same amount of time as it takes for me to listen to my favorite song from my playlist. Irony is a sneaky little bitch. When I walk inside, I’m instantly overtaken by the scent of fresh baked goods and French champagne. I find Lydia sipping a seasonal mimosa in a corner booth and I slide in opposite of her.

           “Eek! Bells! I’ve missed you!” Lydia’s cover girl face sparkles with sincerity as she greets me.

           “Hey, Lydia!” I muster the fakest smile I can and I think she’s convinced. She shoves a champagne flute that matches hers across the table to me and I sip. It tastes like sparkling water, frozen grapes and poor decisions. I sip again.

           “So, you’ll never guess who I saw at Trader Joe’s yesterday.” Her melodious voice drones on in a gripping tale of our grade school mean-girl, Sheila Radcliff, and her recent divorce, which apparently was her third? I stop listening a few minutes in. I hear Lydia as she speaks, as we nibble on miniature sandwiches and sweet, sugary pastries. I hear her, but I’m not listening. I couldn’t care less what she’s saying to me.

           Brunch drags on for an hour I think, though I’m not convinced that it hasn’t been an eternity and this is my Hell. Lydia’s lips continue to move as she dishes out all of her juiciest gossip. I feel a twinge of pain inside my belly. There was a time I used to love days like today. Sunshine, mimosas, and my best friend and I gabbing on for hours. This used to make me happy. It used to. I frown.

           “Well, Bells, I guess I should get going. I’m supposed to meet Hilary at the salon. I’m so glad we did this. Let’s meet up soon, okay?” She hugs me tightly just before we leave.

           “Of course.” I try to sound earnest but I don’t think it’s convincing. Lydia must notice the sadness behind my eyes as we pull apart from our embrace.

           “Are you okay, Bella? You seem a little… off.” She studies me for answers.

           “I’ll be fine, Lydia.” I plaster my fake grin upon my face once more and try to reassure her.

           “Okay.” Lydia holds me by the shoulders looking a little bit concerned. “Call me if you need me, huh?”       

           “Of course.” We go our separate ways and I listen to the same song that guided me to the café. Like clockwork, the final cords of the song finish just as I stick my key into my door. The perfect timing of this almost makes me smile. Almost.

           I slide out of my dress and leave it crumpled like a used tissue on my bedroom floor. It’s served its purpose. I decide to stay in my panties, they’re black and soft, so they’ll do. I pull a 4X t-shirt over my head. It swallows my size small figure, just the way I like it. I meander to my living room and plop down in the floor beside the sofa again. Andy’s gone now, and I think it’s an episode of Bonanza. I don’t know, I never liked that show.

           Bella Rowe’s Last Will and Testament sits just where I left it last night. I sigh. I should finish this. I pick up my pen and start to write. Is this a real will? Probably not. There are no attorneys. There are no notaries. I don’t even know if I need one of those. But it’s mine, and honestly I don’t have enough friends or belongings to bother with the official mumbo jumbo. This will do just fine.

           I struggle to list out my possessions, the little bit I have. As I begin bestowing my savings upon my kid sister, Cora, and my furniture to Lydia, I feel the tears pooling in my eyes again. Soon enough the mascara streaks my cheeks once more. It’s not because I’m sad, it’s because I’m utterly exhausted. Exhausted and consumed. The light is pouring into my apartment from the sunny afternoon outside, but all I feel is darkness. It’s around me, it’s inside me, it’s in everything I touch. The things that used to make me smile only make me frown. And I surrender.

           My cell phone hums and I check to see who is calling. It’s my friend Hayden. He’s in seminary school studying to become a missionary. The contact photo I’ve chosen for him makes him look handsome and kind.

           “Hello?” God, my voice sounds so small. It sounds hallow and empty. “Hello?” I try again, with no success in sounding any perkier.

           “Bella? Lydia texted me and said you seemed off at brunch, depressed almost. Are you okay?” His voice is calm but concerned. I laugh in my head at his word of choice – depressed. Understatement of the century, Hays.

           “I don’t know anymore, Hayden.” I sigh. I’ve always found it difficult to lie to Hayden. I don’t know if it’s his charisma or his passion for the Bible, but lying to him always seems… wrong.

           “What’s wrong, Bells?”

           I look at my will before me and feel the skin between my brows crinkle in discernment. “I’m just tired, Hayden, so tired. Nothing seems to be enough anymore. I know I sure as hell don’t feel like enough anymore.”

           “What do you mean?”

           “I don’t know.” I sigh. The tears are welling up again. The silence between us on the phone is deafening. I really don’t know. I don’t know how to express myself or how to make him understand. It’s like the darkness that’s consumed me has taken hold of my vocabulary. Even if I wanted to scream out exactly how I felt, I couldn’t if I tried.

           “You are MORE than enough, my friend. You are so important to me, to all of us. Tell me how you’re feeling and let me talk you through.” He says.

           “I can’t.” I stutter.

           “Yes, you can. I would never judge you, Bella. You can tell me anything.”

           “No Hayden, I physically cannot. I don’t have the words.” I’m crying now. I don’t want to be, but I am. Hysterically and uncontrollably.

           “Bella, I know it’s hard. I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through, but someone does. God knows you, Bells. He knows about your burdens and the pain that you’re feeling right now. Lean on Him, Bella. Lean on me if you need.” Hayden sounds so sincere, I can feel my heart shatter a little more with each syllable that leaves his lips.

           “It’s not that easy, Hayden.” I sob. “I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. But I’m so tired of trying.” My voice trails off like a whisper in a breeze.

           “Bella –” his voice stops.

           “I have to go, Hayden.” I hang up. My chest is heaving now as I gasp for air. I’m crying so hard that my lungs cannot keep up. Like a balloon that’s been pierced by a sewing needle, they deflate. I deflate.

           I finish scribing my final thoughts onto my will, though I doubt that they’ll be legible, my tears will likely wash away the message I’m trying to portray. I dot my final “i” and cross my final “t”. I fold the piece of paper that I know my loved ones will hate, and place it neatly on my coffee table. I turn off the television and wander to the bathroom.

           “And I surrender.” I whisper out loud. I wipe away my makeup again and bite my lip. Those three words are the only thing that resonates with me anymore. I turn the water knob on my claw-footed tub and climb in. My oversized t-shirt clings to me in the warm water. It rises as I lean back against the porcelain. I feel the tears roll across my skin, falling into the water that’s encroaching on my thighs.

           There’s a lonely, rusted blade resting on the ledge of the tub. I think it came from a box cutter, though I really couldn’t say. I pick it up and let out a soft sob as its jagged edge meets the place that has sought its release many times before. Both the scar tissue and the untouched skin of my inner thighs give way to a crimson flood of every horrifying emotion, every tear shed, and every bit of darkness that has ever touched my spirit. My blood mixes with the water, and I can feel myself going limp. I close my eyes and await for what may come. I hear a loud noise, but I can’t tell if it’s real or if I’m imagining things.

           “Bella!” Hayden’s voice penetrates my subconscious. “Oh my God, Bella!” I feel him grab me, one hand cradling my back and one scooping up my blood-soaked legs. He pulls me from the water, wrapping me in a towel. My eyes flicker open, then closed. As I blink against the bathroom lights, I see my will crumpled up beside Hayden on the bathmat. I close my eyes again as I hear him calling the paramedics.

           My eyes eventually flutter open. They strain against the stark white lights of the room I’m now in. I wince at the sterile scent of industrial disinfectants. My eyes fall on Hayden sitting by my bedside, right next to the vitals monitor that lets out a steady sound of beeps, telling me I’m still alive.

           “God, Bella. Oh, thank God!” He leans down to hug me. Soon, another pair of arms wrap around me just as tightly. It’s Lydia.

           “Bella, you scared us!” Her eyes are puffy from crying.

           “What happened?” I frown.

           “You tried to… I found… here.” Hayden’s voice wavers and tapers off as he hands me my will. It’s crumpled, torn and saturated in my blood.

           “Oh.”

           “Bella, what happened? We could’ve lost you.” Lydia matches my fresh, new tears. I spend the next hour or so filling my friends in on my downward spiral into utter depression. At least, I try to. I explain to them about the darkness that consumes me. It’s not long until all three of us are piled together in my hospital bed. Salty tears flood our senses as we hold each other praying we never have to part. When we do, however, Hayden asks if he can pray for me.

           “Heavenly Father,” he begins. His voice is quiet. It’s like his words are passing though my ears, going straight to the center of my soul. “I pray that you might place your hands on our dear friend, Bella, and heal her, God. Heal her spirit and her body. Assure her of her purpose and remind her of the treasure that she is. Wrap her in your courage and strength. Take these burdens from her and rid her of her demons. God, help her to find the light that she has lost, and remind her of how absolutely and unequivocally loved she is. Amen.” I curl up in a ball, clinging to my friends. They tell me I am strong. I am loved. I am here. For the first time in what feels like six lifetimes, I remember what it’s like to feel. To feel pain, heartache, brokenness. To feel love.

           I have known the darkness. I mean, I’ve truly known it. Like a needle knows a bloodstream. Like a bullet knows the barrel of a gun. But, I’ve also known the light. The light that finds us when we’ve lost any and all hope that it’s out there. I’ve lived in the darkness, allowing it to consume every part of me. But now, for the first time in forever, I think I want to feel what it’s like to live in the light again. And with my friends’ arms around me, and mascara stinging my eyes once more, I rip my bloody, tattered will in to pieces, watching it fall to the floor beside my bed.

           This part of my life, it’ll always be there. I’ll always remember the darkness. But the light is where I want to be. It’s where my loved ones are, in the space that’s void of the numbness and tears. I plan to stay here for a very, very long time. As one last tear falls, I smile. This is my second chance to find my joy. This is my journey from the darkness into the light. This is my life now. And I surrender.

THE END