Those nights

When I was younger I once dreamt of drowning in a deep sea of dark.
I dreamt of sinking deeper and deeper, everything around me growing darker and darker. All the while the pain in my heart getting lighter and lighter. And I was happy for the first time in a long time.

I believe there is a point in every human’s life where he or she wishes to die. We wonder who would miss us, who would care. How would we do it? What would we write in that letter we leave behind? Do we leave one behind? It’s sad to know that we children have these thoughts. Our parents could not shield us, could not protect us from the ugly, from the horrid that we call this world we live in. Some of us caved and are no longer here. I wonder if they could see us, would they regret? Would they rather endure the pain in their hearts to see the people who were around them smile? Or are they just glad they left this place?

Sometimes I still catch myself with the same kind of heartache that I had back then. The feeling that made me miserable and made me want to end it all. It seems so tempting. The thought of not having to live up to a standard that is not mine entirely, relieves me. The thought of not having to live by rules of dead people, ideas of strangers who put down the morals, not only for them, but for entire countries, it soothes me. And finally, the thought of not having to put up with the accumulated stupidity of what mankind has boiled down to be brings a sweet smile to my face.

My mom used to come into my room before going to sleep and wish me a good night; regardless of wether I was awake or not. I always pretended I was asleep, and I think most of the time she knew. Sometimes she’d even let me know and tell me, with a soft whisper, “Sleep soon, honey”. One night after she had closed my door, I waited quietly for the house to go still. My room was pitch dark and it took me a few seconds to adjust my eyes. I got out of bed as quietly as I could and went to my little white cupboard at the other side of the room. Taking out a bag and a belt I slipped into bed again, shivering. I pulled the plastic bag over my face and secured it with the belt around my neck. As I lay down in the darkness I could hear the plastic moving, rustling against my ears. In sync with my breathing, touching my face again and again as the heat built up. With tears rolling down my sides I tried falling asleep, knowing that my sister was just behind a wall and my parents further down the hall. After a while, I felt light headed and a thumping pain started to build up between my ears. I was suffocating. Right now I was feeling, physically, how I had felt mentally for the past 8 years of my life. Drained, exhausted and accompanied by an uncertain dizziness that would last, I didn’t know, how much longer. My heart accelerated. It was beating so much stronger than it had ever done while I was living. It started beating so hard I thought it would break my bones.

Stop beating now. Stop beating. Stop it. Stop it. Stop. It.

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