Suicide Sundays

The birds are chirping.

The sun seeps through the shades. Quiet whispers from the wind fill the room, alongside the orange glow. Your eyes fuss, squinting trying to block out the light creeping in. Legs tied up in sheets, you hide your face in one of the pillows, chills run down your spine from the brisk spring air. Your mouth has a funny metallic taste, as you roll over onto your left side, hoping that the sun hasn’t reached the other side of the room, but it has. You realize going back to sleep isn’t an option, and you sit up holding your knees to your chest.

It hasn’t clicked in yet, where you are, who you are, what has happened, what will happen. Right now you’re a clean slate, no obligations, no wants or needs, no past that follows, you are what you are in this moment, no one. You look around, taking it all in, the room tinted orange by the sun's beams, the metallic taste in your mouth, the crust in the corner of your eyes, and the air sweet as honeysuckle, but ever so lightly brisk.

But then it clicks, and the aching fills your body. It’s a virus invading your chest, like a flame being lit from inside and sparks engulfing your lungs, stab wounds all over your body, it’s everywhere and it’s inescapable. It consumes you like he did. All the happiness that he gave you is wiped and taken away. All the memories, bright smiles, being lifted off your feet, gentle kisses, enchanting embraces, late nights up together in each others arms, the pain fills you as you’re running from dead-lights.

He fills your thoughts, all the happiness that was taken away from you without even a second guess. He was a part of you, but now there's an empty hole inside your body being filled with thoughts of self harm, anger, and pain. It’s all around you as you’re desperately clinging to what was once a hope filled life of motivation and ambition. All the plans you had in place have been thrown away. Why even try?

Wallowing out of bed, you find yourself on the floor unable to move, overwhelmed by all the past experiences you shared with him. Your tears puddle on the ground surrounding you. The memories fill your mind, as the black talons pull you under, you’re drowning just beneath the surface, water swallowing up the space in your lungs. You want to let go but you’re clinging onto the corner of your bed, by your shirt. You pull yourself up and wipe the tears from your face, you proceed to the bathroom.

Pulling yourself down the hall you fall into the doorway and lean against the pastel green walls. Flooded with the thought of him lifting you onto the counter and pressing his face deep into your neck, biting down passionately. You force yourself to look into the mirror, flushed cheeks and salty tears slightly enter the sides of your mouth. You let out a sigh, and tears flood down your face as if you were stuck in a hurricane. You try to muster up the strength to look yourself in the eye again but quickly turn your gaze to the blade sitting patiently on the side of the sink. You pick up the blade and see yourself in the reflection, your baggy glazed over blue eyes looking back at you. You place the blade just above your forearm feeling your pulse through the blade. It’s strong, but your mind chooses to think otherwise. You push the blade deeper into your skin, while blood starts to exit out.

You hear birds singing.