The Greatest Myth

It feels great to feel nothing. It was slow to get here. Every cut took seconds to make, the decision to make them took hours. How many? How deep? With what instrument? Ten, five on each arm, straight horizontal lines forming tiny ladders. Deep enough to easily pry open with your fingers. With my fathers favorite kitchen knife, eight inches, stainless steel, and sharpened every day after dinner. It's time, I feel the abyss growing. My eyelids are gaining weight. Not much longer now. I use my final seconds to appreciate my creation. Scanning over the bloody lakes, the polished blade, the container of gel, and my poison of choice. Numbing piling over numbing. Nothing is here.

I hear it, the unexpected. I wasn't supposed to. The squeak of the bathroom door and what can only have been a scream. It's muffled, like someone is yelling underwater. Like they're scared of drowning or of me drowning. It's too late, I'm already so deep below. My friend, Darkness, has shown up to save me just like he promised.

But he lied.

He didn't save me. He showed up to say hello and then left. Left me in this jail cell. One with too bright fluorescent lights, tubes attached to me, machines that beep with displays that tell me you failed, my mother resting on my legs and my father slumped over in the chair on the opposite wall. I look at my mummified arms. I want to lift them, but it hurts. My arms are throbbing, my brain is throbbing, and my heart is throbbing knowing that I was lied to. I was supposed to get Darkness. Instead I received tidal waves of artificial light.

I shift my upper body for comfort, shifting my mom with me, prompting her head to spring upwards. Widened eyes, she latches onto my head, face buried in my ear. The crying starts and I know it won’t be until next century that she stops. Dad follows her move, his head on top of mine, his hand smashing moms head deeper into my face. There are no tears from him, there are never tears from him. Mom repeated, "Thank God," and "I love you so much," seven quintillion times while showering my acne swarmed cheek with salty streams. Underneath her sobbing, I make out the only sentence my dad bothered to give.

"Jackson, you're better than this. I just can't unde-."

Maybe he said more, but my rage blocked it out. I thought Congrats dad, you've officially been nominated for the "Worst Things a Father Could Say to His Suicidal Son" award. Fuck you.

The nurse standing guard outside the door peeks in, then shuffles away. A thin older woman appears minutes later, purple and blue floral dress with a white cardigan. The Doctor. There's a lipped smile and morose eyes planted on her face.

"Good evening," she says.

Definitely not I think, and don't say anything.

"I'm Doctor Shaw, nice to meet you Jackson. May I have the room with your son?" she says, pulling up a chair to the end of my bed.

My dad responds, "Sure thing. C'mon honey." He escorts my mom out of the room who looks back at me, tear streaked face, and mouths a final, "I love you."

"Thank you," says Doctor Shaw as my parents exit and close the door.

"So Jackson, let's-"

I cut her off, "Who found me?"

This makes her turn her head, look at the floor, and bite her lip. She lets out a quick sigh before admitting, "Your sister," looking back at me," Lily, I believe her name is." I nod.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

"Okay, well the-"

"When can I go home?"

Humpfh she exhales through her nose. "I can't say for sure. You'll have to spend the next couple of nights here and I'll be discussing in-patient counseling with your parents after this. Ultimately it will be their choice what happens next."

Awesome. I'll be with a bunch of other fucked up kids being constantly monitored, eating mediocre food, and going to group therapy sessions being coerced to explain why I feel the way I do, why I did what I did, why I'm such a colossal shit show. Which my mom will make sure happens. Doctor Shaw lets her words sit with me awhile. I appreciate this.

"Speaking of your sister, would you like to see her?" she asks.

I don't know, "Is she here?"

"Yes, she's in the hallway. She's quite... concerned. She said it was up to you if you wanted to see her."

Does she think what I did was her fault? I stare at my bandaged arms, thinking about what it was like for her. What she felt when she saw me in a pool of my own blood. I try to imagine her scream without the muffling. I can hear it and the thought forces me to squeeze my eyes shut. It won't leave, it repeats until I become nauseous.

"Jackson? What's the matter?"

Everything.

"Nothing, besides ya know." I say, eyeing my arms. "It's okay."

"I wouldn't go that far, your... situation is troubling at the least."

"No, I meant it's okay if my sister wants to come in."

Doctor Shaw's eyes widened, "Oh right, of course. Good. I'll let her know and I'll check up with you tomorrow. If you need anything, press the last button on the remote next to you and a nurse will come in. I know that it will be hard, but please try and get a good night's rest."

"I'll give it my best effort," I force a wide grin, "Oh and if you could Doc. Can you not let my parents back in? I don't think I'm ready to face them again."

She returns it with a less wide grin, nods in agreement, no questions and is out the door. Moments later, my sister walks through and I regret letting her come in.

There's. So. Much. Blood.

She's wearing a loose gray crewneck and blue jeans. Or should I say a red and gray crewneck and jeans, half red, half blue. I can’t talk again. She walks to the side of my bed, lips curled down, eyes red and puffy, and spits out, "Move over."

"Huh?" is all I can manage.

"Scooch over so I can lie down," she swats her free hand. Her other hand holds a plastic bag.

"Oookay," I respond, sliding over as much as I can in this bed that is barely made to occupy one person.

Lily hops in, settling down on her side, placing her head on my shoulder and plops the bag on my stomach.

"So I brought you some food. A bacon chicken ranch sub, pickle chips, and a root beer," she tells me, sighing afterward.

"Thank yo-"

"This fucking sucks. By the way, thought I should get that out there," she traces small circles on my bandages and sighs again.

"Yeah... it's... uh.. not great," I stammer.

She snorts," Not great. It's terrible, awful, horrific. There aren't enough words in all the languages to describe how shit this day has been."

She adds to clarify,” For both of us, for all of us. But mostly you.”

There's a deadly silence lingering between us only being broken by the canned laughter on Big Bang Theory playing on the tv hanging in front of us.

My words are meek," Sorry about your clothes."

I try to continue," I'm sorry about... well a lot. This. Everything."

She clutches my chest, tilts her head up to me. She's crying. "I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for being a shitty sister."

"Lily you're not-"

"Just listen. Please," I nod and she continues, "I'm sorry that you're hurting. Hurting so bad that you wanted to die. I'm sorry that I didn't make you feel comfortable enough to come and talk to me. That you felt alone, that you're family didn't pay enough attention to you. That I didn't notice, that I don't ask you how you're doing more, for not pressing you to tell what's wrong. I'm really fucking sorry that I didn't love you enough. Because I do love you, I can never not love you and I should have shown you that. Should have shown you that you are never alone. As long as I exist, you are never alone."

The floodgates have opened. Not just for her, but for me too. She's blubbering into my chest, soaking my thin gown.

I cry talk, "I just wanted, I needed it to stop. I needed the suffering to stop, it was swallowing me. The pressure, the disappointment, it's agonizing. I needed to befriend the Darkness, because it's never going away."

Lily kisses my cheek and holds my head to her chest." Listen here. The greatest myth about suicide is that it ends suffering. That suffering you felt is dispersed. Transferred to other people. Like energy, suffering can't be destroyed or created. It always exists, it has to. But we can fight it, keep it in check. Balance it out. And remember, you don't have to do it alone. Really, it's almost impossible."

She holds my face and looks me in my eyes," We are going to win, okay?"

I don't know what to think. I don't know if she's right. Is this a battle I can win? Do you really ever win against suffering? Or is the victory condition simply not succumbing to it? Is that the kind of life that I'm okay with, one where I have to feel like I'm drowning, constantly on the verge of blacking out, just to occasionally reach the surface and be able to breathe. Maybe. Maybe I can tip the scale. Maybe we can tip it, stack our side with delight, triumph, satisfaction, accomplishment enough to beat the hopelessness, dread, fear, and resentment that is currently gripping my ankles, pulling me under. I won't be content with just reaching the surface. I'm going to stand on the water. I'm going to fly, far and fast, all the way to the sun. Where Darkness can't exist.

I hold Lily's face back, stare into her polished brown eyes and announce," We will make the Darkness beg for mercy.”

She smiles brighter than every flame ever to exist.