I've always wondered, would it matter if I was here? Would anyone truly miss me if I ever decided to just end it? This question was always stuck in my mind, did my 'friends' really care about me? Would it matter to them if I were to disappear one day? I tell myself, "Of course they would, Sienna, you're just being over-dramatic again," but there's a problem with that simple answer. The little voices in the back of my head scream, they scream and tell me that it's all a lie. That my simple answer is nothing but a big fat lie, just another little white lie to get me through another day. I've seen the signs, my friends are pushing me away, telling me they don't need me, that they don't want me. That's okay, though, no one has ever wanted me. My parents didn't want me, my siblings didn't want me, only the evil voices that live in the back of my head want me. So, I always ask myself, would it matter?
Would my life honestly matter to anyone? Would they cry for me? Would they even miss me? I wouldn't, there's nothing to miss. All I do is ruin everything, anything touched by me is ruined. That's why they wouldn't care, that's why none of this would ever matter to anyone, because my whole life I've been nothing but a problem, a nuisance. That's why... I took my life. It didn't hurt too bad, sure there was that shot of fear that went through my chest, but feeling my blood flow freely washed all that fear away. I was finally able to feel the sweet release of death, I could hear the reporters now: "Young fifteen-year-old, Sienna Parker was found dead by her foster mother in their family home." At least one person would semi care.
My assumptions were wrong, my friends did care. They did cry for me, they did miss me. Now... I realize... I was the one who didn't care. It was me that said I don't need you, I don't want you. The dark voices in the back of my head fooled me into believing that my friends and family didn't care about me when it was them that never cared. Those horrible... horrible voices made me believe that they cared about me, that I only needed them. I've become the monster that hurt my friends, I was the monster that caused them the same pain that I once felt.
My friends mourned for me, they shed their tears over me, and for what? A selfish mistake that I shouldn't have made, but really I didn't mean to hurt them. I was in pain and I just wanted it all to stop, my pain did stop, but theirs has just begun. Their pain of losing me has begun and I won't be able to fix it. I always thought that it wouldn't matter if I were to disappear, but it obviously does matter.
It took a simple mistake to answer my question of: Would it matter? The answer was always there, it was never in between the lines. The answer was their plain as day, but I was just too stuck in my own sorrows to realize it. Seeing my friends and my family cry, helped me to finally see what the true answer was. That no matter how much you hurt or how much you think nobody cares, that it's not true. None of it is true, because they do care.
Those voices are the liars, not your friends, or your family. They are and I should have realized that before this mistake was made. What is the answer? I'll tell you, the answer to 'Would it matter?' is...
Yes... Yes, it would.
About the Creator
Jinx Cipriano
I am eighteen years old, I am a female. I really like to read and write, my preferred genre's are fiction and horror for both my writing and reading material. I hope you enjoy my stories and I hope everyone has a good day!
Keep reading
More stories from Jinx Cipriano and writers in Psyche and other communities.
A Broken Record
Have you ever felt like a problem? Like, you never mattered to anyone in your life? They always tell me to keep my chin up and that it couldn't get any worse. Every time I try to talk to them about my problems, they'll call me a broken record. Always saying that I repeat myself, that my sadness and fears are in my imagination. To them, depression isn't a disease. No, it's a made-up thing that people like me use to get out of doing things. Whenever one of my spells hit, my mother will call into my room saying: "Get up, Dean! I know you're faking!" Truth is, I'm not. You can't fake this, depression isn't easy to fake. When I don't want to get out of bed most days, my dad will barge in and drag me out of bed and onto the cold floor. He says I'm too young to be depressed, he always tells me that sixteen-year-olds pretend to be depressed so they can get out of going to school or to get out of chores.
By Jinx Cipriano6 years ago in Horror
Hidden Costs and Lasting Shame of Financial Abuse
I’ve always been responsible with my money. I have a job that pays decently, although (like many in our inflated economy) I should definitely be making more for what I do. I regularly check my credit score. I don’t eat out much, nor do I spend frivolously on non-essentials.
By Veronica Wren14 days ago in Psyche
The Wise Man: Navigating Life with Knowledge and Insight
Introduction to the Concept of the Wise Man In a world filled with complexity and uncertainty, the figure of the wise man stands out as a beacon of guidance and understanding. But what exactly defines a wise man? How does one embody wisdom in their daily life? Let's delve into the essence of wisdom and explore how it shapes our existence.
By quizat karim5 days ago in Psyche
The Reluctant Reporter
"You can't send me!" "There is no-one else. It's you or no-one, and that is not an option." Ameera looked at the fat paunch and florid face of her boss, a man who lived for the story and the kudos it brought him but who rarely gave consideration to the people behind the drama. When had he become so hard? She reckoned that by the end of the year, he'd be dead, collapsed from a heart attack and she struggled to conjure any sympathy in that moment and instantly felt ashamed at displaying the same lack of compassion that he had.
By Rachel Deeming5 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.