Oneshot. What can come from struggling because you're different in a world that just wants you to be the same?
Everyone looks straight past me in the street. They can all see, the whole world can see, but they don't want to look. No one wants to watch the empty, hollow shell of a broken guy, who smokes and drinks and starves and cuts and pukes his way into oblivion. The type of oblivion which he fears, but also hopes, he will never be able to get out of. The type which will forever consume him into it's deepest depths, dark and eternal.
But that's all life and good health is, isn't it? Just the slowest form of death. The longest way to walk before dissolving into the oblivion. Life is just a temporary state in preparation for the permanence of death.
There's something about the inevitability of the end which made me lose my will to live. No matter what I did in my menial and meaningless existence would matter, I'd die in the end anyway.
Life itself is so fragile, like a glass, so easily shattered. My life, however, seems to be an already broken glass which has been glued back together. Sure, it's held in place, but it never took as big a fall to break me as it would for other people. Whereas everyone else would have needed to be dropped from a great height to smash into a million pieces, I just needed a tap in the right direction. And I got that alright.
The stupid comments of schoolchildren floated their way around my bitter brain. We were all young, why would they have realised that calling me 'fat' and nicknaming me 'pudgy' would have led me to have an eating disorder? That all their teasing would lead me to self harm, and trying to escape my useless reality with alcohol.
Okay, I will admit that I'm selfish. There are two people in the world who, for whatever reason, still care about my well-being. My mom and brother. Always caring, even though I'm never there for them. Through all of this they try to help me, which gives me even more reason to finish this. I can't keep doing this to them, they deserve better than me. I know I'm hurting them every time I hurt myself, and I need to put an end to it all, because I just can't seem to stop, no matter how much I hurt them. Besides, even if I could somehow get better, I'd still have to live with the guilt of putting them through this all these years.
The fact is that throughout my whole life, except for the bullying all through my school years, I shouldn't really have anything to complain about. The problem is that my brain can't comprehend this fact, and even when things go right, everything just feels wrong. When bad things happen I blame myself, and when anything good happens I punish myself, because I didn't deserve it. I don't deserve anything good.
The thick scars covering my arms and legs tell this story. Many of them are now faded and white in colour, even paler than my porcelain skin. The newer ones contrast strikingly with my skin tone, the bright pink standing out, taunting me.
I used to try hiding them, but you can't wear long sleeve t-shirts in the middle of summer forever. Especially when you already feel faint and exhausted from lack of food. The last thing I needed was me passing out somewhere and an ambulance being called. I would be put in a loony bin for sure. Someone who refuses to eat, or purges when they do, and puts a razor blade to their skin. To society it just screams 'crazy', even though I could blame society for making me this way. According to society it isn't 'ideal' to be fat, or depressed. I try to vent out my depression with self harm, and sometimes it actually works. Once I take my anger, sadness, frustration, out on myself I can almost pretend to be normal. But most of the time it just makes me feel worse.
None of what I do helps me, yet I still can't stop. I've started the path of self destruction, and I feel like it's too late to turn back. I can't even remember a time when I didn't hate myself.
I can't finish it at home, with my mom or Mikey having to be the ones to find me, and then hate being in the house because of the memories it will hold. I don't want anyone to find me, which will be pretty difficult, but I'll find a way. No one deserves to be mentally scarred because of me, by finding my body.
I've given great thought to where it would happen. It needs to be somewhere people don't often travel, and somewhere in which I can be easily hidden. I'd come up with the ideal place 2 days ago, and my visit there this morning had just cemented my choice. It was perfect.
I stepped into my front door, happy that I had made the effort to go to school in the morning before rushing off, so that mom and Mikey would have no idea, and would be out for hours.
I packed a bag, filling it with a litre bottle of vodka, the bottle containing the last few of my mom's sleeping pills, and my razor blade. Either of the three would do the job if I used enough, but I wanted to be sure. I didn't need anything else, there was nothing I would be able to carry through to the afterlife, if such a thing existed.
Next came the worst part: the letter. I knew I needed to write something, I couldn't leave my mom or Mikey with absolutely no explanation. And even though they'd been first hand witnesses of my self destructive behaviour, what if they didn't realise my plan? What if they thought I'd been kidnapped or something and called a huge police search? No. They needed to know the truth, and they needed to know that they should in no way blame themselves.
I sighed and grabbed some paper and a pen, knowing that this alone could have the power to stop me from continuing my plan.
I had no idea where to begin. Hi? No, that wasn't right. I screwed up a sheet of paper and aimed it at the bin, missing of course, but what did it matter? I knew this would be difficult, but now it just felt impossible. Mikey and my mom were the people I was closest to in all the world, how was I supposed to tell them my plan?
I began by addressing it to them, and telling them what they meant to me. Once I started it all began to flow, and I must have spent about an hour writing it. When finished, I lay it on my pillow. I tidied my bed so it would be seen properly. I knew the sight of my bed made rather than the covers strewn everywhere would make someone investigate when they inevitably opened the door to come and look for me.
"Okay." I muttered to myself. "This is the end." I took my bag in hand and made my way out the front door, not looking back. I walked through a number of back streets, towards the forest on the outskirts of the city. I'd always professed to hate this forest when my mom took us here as children, so it was likely no one would come looking for me here.
Once in, I left the marked trails trampled by families and people walking their dogs, and made my way into the denser forestry. I walked to the top of one of the many hills, where the ground was carpeted by thick shrubs and tree roots; the place I had staked out this morning. Even from the other hills you couldn't see anything on the floor of this hill, so it was impossible to see from ground level.
The leaves on the ground were crisp yet untrodden, and I could see no evidence of passers by. The view from atop the hill was beautiful. From the outskirts of the city, the vast buildings were only just visible, and set into a slight haze against the skyline. Everything else which could be seen was covered in yellowing and orange leaves, with patches of green from the evergreen trees which year after year missed the memo about it being autumn. Every leaf seemed to be a different shade to all of the others, just like snowflakes, each leaf was a different shape, different shade, from it's brothers. In nature, individuality only adds to the beauty of every single counterpart. So why is it that humans cannot accept, and even try to stamp out, individuality? If the fact that no two things are the same in nature makes it all the more amazing, why can't we work that way too?
I guess that would just be another thing I would never understand.
I sat myself down under the shade of one of the large trees on the hill, the spot which was most hidden from view due to the amount of other plants growing nearby. I opened the alcohol bottle and took a long swig. Even with my increased drinking habits recently it still burned my throat harshly, as if telling me that life wanted to make my exit as painful as possible.
The pills were next; each single one taken with a drink of vodka, eight in total. I finished the bottle, no longer feeling the sharpness of each gulp. I could feel myself becoming numb. The tips of my fingers tingled, as if warning me of my impending demise, my permanent sleep. I picked up the blade, thinking that if I left it too long I would be too numb to move enough, and worrying that I hadn't yet done enough to end it all.
As I pressed the blade to my wrist I thought about how in mere moments I would be like the evergreens. Not alive, as they were. We differed very much in that sense. No, I would be like them because of how unchanging I was about to become. No longer would I shed, or regrow. My feelings would no longer change, just like the other trees leaves would change colours. I could not wither any further. Nothing would ever be different for me, I would remain to be the same. Dead. Forever.
First I just want you to know how amazing you both are. You mean more to me than anything in this world, or anything this world could ever offer in the future. I love you both so much.
Everything I've ever done to myself was never your fault, even though you think it is for some reason I will never know. Without you I never would have lasted this long, and you will never be able to understand how much you've helped me over all of these years; mostly because I never really opened up to you, but also because it probably doesn't seem possible that two people could help someone so much.
I know that because I could never stop being so self destructive you probably thought that you had never helped me, but that would be wrong. You're all I could ever hope for in a family. In fact, you're all that anyone in the entire world could ever ask for. No matter how many times I pushed you away, no matter what I did to myself, or how I tried to disconnect myself from the entire world, you always stuck by me. I have no idea why, because I have always been a selfish asshole who never showed he cared about anyone else. The truth is I did care, I cared for you both more than I could put into words.
I just wish that maybe I had been more open with you, or showed you how much I cared.
I couldn't live with myself anymore, and I'm sorry. Everything which was wrong with me just kept piling up, crushing me. I couldn't deal with it all anymore, I needed a way out.
They often state that suicide is the coward's way out. That's bullshit. If it was the coward's way out, then why is it so difficult to write this note? Why does it take weeks of planning, and why is every way to end things so painful? No, it is not the coward's way, though neither is it the brave man's way.
It is the way of a man who is at the end of his tether, who has a tunnel but not a light. It is the way of a boy whose brain doesn't seem to work the way it's supposed to, and just tells him that everything bad is his fault, and that he deserves the pain of punishment.
I'm sorry you won't be able to bury me. I couldn't do it here, in my sanctuary. I couldn't take the guilt of having one of you find me, even though I am no longer conscious to feel such emotions. I want you to remember me as a person. A fucked up one, sure. But still a person. Living, breathing, talking, moving. I didn't want to just become a body in your eyes, and I hope you will forgive me, even though this stops you from having a proper goodbye. I know I took too much from you both which I never deserved in life, but I hope you will respect my wish when I ask for you not to try and search for me now.
I love you both more than you know, and I will continue to love you forever. I'm sorry things are this way, and I would do anything if it meant that I could somehow fix myself and be the son and brother you both deserve.
I miss you, but there was no way for me to continue on in this way. I could see I was hurting you every time I hurt myself, and although this will be the biggest hurt of all, it will stop the hurt carrying on forever.
Mikey Way read the note for what must have been the hundreth time. Tears spilt onto the page, splattering and making the already aged and faded ink run ever so slightly.
Tomorrow was his wedding day, and he wished more than anything that his older brother could have been alive to see it.
He ran a thin fingered hand through his messy hair, and a sigh of frustration escaped his lips. Why couldn't he have done more to save him?
Tears still escaping his lids, he stood up and made his way to bed. If he had stopped to look in the mirror, he would have seen a pair of sparkling hazel eyes gaze back at him, so alike his own, yet not belonging to him. He would have seen the pale, thin, chapped lips, belonging to his brother, mouth the words 'I'm sorry'.