Falling

Trigger Warning: Suicide Attempt, Death

The waves crashed onto the golden shore. A lone seagull, riding with the wind shrieked a cry in response to the breeze. The salty wind, the blue-green waves with white-foam crests brought back memories. The tide, ebbing and flowing, taunted me with the freedom, splashing the pier I was standing on. 

The one place I loved, the one place I was as free. Free from the cage of lies, anger, sadness hidden within me; ensnaring me, clapping its cold, metal, claws shut. From the constant struggle of smiling every day when I felt like sobbing. Breaking, falling. 

Today, I was free going to be from hope. Hope was like the flower petals that carried by the cool, summer breeze - beautiful and carefree. Hope always slipping between my fingers. Just out of reach. Floating away. 

I felt the wind tickle my ear, whispering the secrets of those gone before me. The secrets of the dead. Of whom I would join. 

I had done everything I needed to: hug my mother, say a soft ‘I love you’ in her ear. Even if I don’t mean it. It’s not her fault I was so unlovable, not her fault I was a failure. I had played the piano, without breaking the small smile plastered on my face. I had hugged my sister, who was a happy, carefree soul. I told her I loved her, and I meant it. I had grabbed a picture of my father, smiling like there was not a worry in the world. He was the only one that knew met. I slipped his picture inside my pocket. I visited his grave, where he has been, ever since that car accident ten years ago. Someone was driving, drunk, and I was left here, alone, at the end of it. With no one. Alone. I picked up flowers to put on his grave. White carnations with lilies. I came here. To fall. To see the ocean. To see my father. To hear the quiet breeze. To listen to the Earth’s secrets. And to leave it. 

Ever since I was eight, I would lock away my feelings, opening them only for the dark night and quiet wind. Ever since I was nine, I stayed away from my mother, after I was told I would grow up to be an alcoholic, a drug addict. A failure. Ever since I was ten, I would shy away from my friends, who needed me to be different, not my imperfect self. Since I was eleven, I changed myself, my personality, to what everybody wanted me to be. 

And ever since I was twelve, I was alone, fighting my nightmares, my tears. Fighting to find a reason to wake up the next day. Hiding my tears, wiping away any existence of my fear, my anger, my lies. But everyone wanted me to change more. Become something I’m not. 

“It’ll end today,” I whispered underneath my breath. “I’ll be free.” 

I can’t help smiling as the wind billows around me, whispering “I’ll be there to catch you when you fall.”

I take one last look at the breathtaking sunset, a deep red, a bright orange, a quieter yellow. The color blurred into each other, like an expert watercolor. Reflecting this scene was the blue ocean vast and beautiful. The taunting blue-green waves, lined white foam, the salty wind. 

I pulled myself over the rail, bracing myself, breathing calmly. 

“Hey, what are ya doing?” someone yells behind me.

I let go, falling into the blue, undulating expanse. 

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

I wake up, with bright lights shining on my face, and monitors beeping loudly. A contrast to the dark, quiet world I was living in. 

A young lady with bright, green eyes rushes into the room. “Genesis! Can you hear me?”

I open my mouth, almost out of instinct, but nothing, not even a quiet whisper escapes my mouth. I nod, instead, drunkenly.

She runs out of the room, and briskly walks in again. While injecting something into my arm, she says, “We’re just going to have you sleep again. Okay?”

My head begins nodding off as I pull under the blanket of drugged sleep once more.

I wake up, and there is some food in front of me, and a nurse. She feeds me and tells me that they are going to have me stand up today. She coaxes my legs out and holds me as I stand up. My head feels light, but I begin walking, unsurely putting one foot in front of the other. 

“Yes! There you go!” She cheers me on, makes me feel special. 

The next day, the same thing happens. Then, the day after. They allow me to walk around the hospital by myself. 

I watch and observe everyone and everything. The short doctor with thick-rimmed glasses. The nurse with a kind smile and a jar of candy. The patients around me smiling, talking. 

I begin whispering to others around me. I smile. I laugh. I feel happy. There are people around me, caring for me, smiling and laughing with me. A warm feeling, like a soft blanket being draped around me, follows me wherever I go. Like love. 

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

 “Hello, I am Dr. Jackson, your psychiatrist. How are you feeling, Genesis?” A tall, black woman sits across from me, folding her legs on her plush, velvet seat. 

I’m not really sure how I feel. I dig my finger into my soft chair and decide to be honest.

“Like I hit my head,” I say raspily. 

She sits taller, chuckling slightly, and replies, “No, I mean, do you remember anything - like why you jumped?”

They have told me this much: I jumped over a pier into the sea - they believe it was with suicidal intentions - and I hit my head on something hard. Someone jumped after me and pulled me onto the shore. They called an ambulance. I was taken into the hospital, in a serious coma. I woke up. They think I have amnesia.

This much I know: I being cared for, I am not alone. I have people who care about me. I am happy. 

 I have no plans to jump again, to fall into the unbroken expanse of blue.

“No, I don’t remember anything,” I say. “And I don’t want to.”