Goodbye

John looked at the sheet of paper in his hands, once again reading over the words he had written there. He looked out the window, the rain breaking up the glow of neon signs illuminating the street below. He sighed and set the paper down, the faint rainbow glow shining across his scrawl. As he stood up from the bed his phone rang. The name of his girlfriend flashed across the screen he had sitting beside his bed. He hit the red button, silencing the shrill that had pierced the sullen silence. He turned to the objects he had spread across his sheets and looked over them, trying to make up his mind.

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

The phone vibrated once more, spilling his song across the inky darkness of his apartment. Emily again. He picked up his phone and again hit the red button, this time tossing it onto his bedspread. The phone landed facedown in the shadows cast by the weight of loneliness he felt. He looked at his tools again, this time selecting one. He picked up the knife and looked at it through the tears that streamed down his face.

BUZZ DING

Now she was texting him. Why couldn’t she just leave him to do this. Again he looked at the neon spectacle showing through his apartment window. She won’t ever understand anyway. Theres just no reason to keep going on. He glanced around his room at the canvases and paint tubes that he hadn’t picked up in weeks. He thought back to the joy he used to get when spreading the color across the page. Of the things he could just create out of nothing but an idea and his hands.

He smiled briefly looking at the portrait he has last painted. Emily, her beautiful auburn hair framing her face accentuated by her yellow dress. The green grass of the park rolling around her. The city skyline in the background.

He looked again at the city he used to be so fond of. How he missed the feeling of walking around with the sound of life. The city now felt dead to him. Everyone sequestered in their homes trying to keep others safe. A whole year he has been here alone. He thought of the game nights he used to host, all their friends gathered around the table, rolling dice and laughing at one thing or another. The food that was brought and shared. The feeling of belonging. That spark of light that kept him going from one week to the next.

BUZZ DING

Another text. He sat down to read it, one last time. “John, please answer your phone. I’m calling Tom, we are heading over.” 

He picked up his note to read it over once more.

Don’t blame yourself and please forgive me. I can’t get rid of feeling like life is going nowhere and I’m tired of fighting through one day after another. We have been shut in for almost a year now and I can’t bear the thought of going through one more day alone. I’m so tired of feeling this darkness. I can’t seem to find the light in anything anymore. Please forgive me for what I need to do. Emily, please keep the painting of you from last summer, I’ve always though it was my best work. Please remember me.

DING DING

A different tone. Now who was messaging him? He flipped his phone over. Tom. “Hey man, Emily called, she’s pretty frantic. Said your depression was roaring up again. I’m coming over.” He saw that glint in Tom’s eyes as he described the next scene of their Dungeons and Dragons game, the next obstacle they would work together to overcome. His sobs renewed as he looked at his friends face flash across the notification display.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t keep going. Please understand Tom.” How he wished he had the courage to tell them. But he has to stay strong, he can’t burden them with that worry. He pressed the knife to his wrist, the steel biting down and drawing that life from his veins. He flinched as his nerves screamed at him to stop, the blade clattering against the floor. He looked down at the deep red spilling onto his rug, then at his note one more time.

DING DING DING

Now Tom was calling. Damn obsession with giving everyone their own ringtone. They will never get the darkness that he feels controlling him on days like today. He glanced at the pill bottle sitting next to his bed. “I wonder if I had been able to afford my meds if this wouldn’t happen?”

Of course it would. Just leave them the note, let them know they don’t have to feel guilty. That’s the only reason they are calling you anyway, they just put up with you because they feel guilty if they don’t.

John blinked his eyes, forcing the burning tears down his cheeks again. He picked up the shining release from his floor and slowly walked into the bathroom, grabbing the note on the way by. May as well make it easy for them to find it when they get here.

BANG BANG BANG

His apartment door rattled. “NYPD, are you home?”

Great, they called the police here. John quietly shut the bathroom door, ignoring the pounding outside his home. He sat down on the toilet, laying the note next to the sink on the counter. He looked at the river of crimson flowing from his arm already, the pain was already subsiding. He grabbed the knife in his injured hand and as he pressed the cold steel to his wrist he felt the apartment shudder as someone kicked the door in.

“Hello? John?” Emily shouted from the entrance. “John honey, where are you?” He could hear her running through the rooms franticly trying to find him. He felt the cold bite as the bathroom door swung open and her face filled his vision.

“I’m sorry.” He sobbed out loud as everything faded into pain and darkness.

Bright white lights burned through John’s eyelids as he felt his blood pulse through his head. He blinked and tried rubbing his eyes, the scratching of soft fabric dragging across his face.

“He’s awake!” Tom’s voice pounded in his ears as he tried to recognize where he was.

He felt a weight press against him and a strangled crying sound as Emily threw herself down on him as her tears soaked his neck. “Why wouldn’t you answer the phone?” she sobbed into John’s shoulder.

He felt his heart tear. “I’m sorry.” He hugged her hard and buried his face into her hair, smelling the sweet strawberries that she always had around her. The warmth of her weight on him filling him with grief as intense as the pain from his wrists. “I’m so sorry.”

Tom placed a hand on John’s shoulder, his own tears chasing each other down his face. “We would care if you weren’t here tomorrow man. We love you.”

*If you or a loved one are having suicidal thoughts, please reach out to 800-273-8255. There are people there to help. Don’t suffer alone, reach out to those who care. They would not want to walk this world tomorrow without you.*