Everything is white and bright and clear, but fuzzy. It is soft and calm and simple, but confusing. I don’t even know how to express where I am because everything is overwhelming. I feel like I am floating on hundreds of clouds, but at the same time I feel like I am on the edge of a cliff waiting to see what happens next. The place that I am in is one that you will not understand until you have experienced it yourself.
They say you go to heaven when you have been a good person. Angels are always watching over you and that bad deeds lead you to hell. I never really understood what that meant, but now that I am here, I find that statement to be a huge contradiction to itself. It’s just another one of the world's bullshit ways of putting a definition to the word life. This idea was always stressed to me. So then tell me this: if I killed myself, why am I in heaven?
My dad died when I was thirteen, now I am fifteen… I think. My mom was never the same after he died. It's like she was always drifting and I could never catch her. The only time we really ever spoke was on the topic of dad and the conversation took place at the kitchen table, and usually went something like this:
“Mom I am telling you, I will see dad again. You might not believe me but I am going to, I promise. And I will tell him all of my stories and we will share jokes and he will make me laugh.”
Following this, she always gave me the same response, “Honey, you know what the police said, dad is gone, forever, he is watching down on us, but he is not coming back.”
After she said that I would go up to my room, slam the door shut making the walls shake and punch the wall continuously, until my knuckles started to bleed. I missed my dad. I missed him like crazy and it was like she never understood how I felt. No one understood how I felt. I used to wake up every day, go through the same routine, see the same people, and act the same way. Wake up at seven, put on some clothes that I had probably warn the day before, walk down the stairs, avoiding conversation with my mom and head straight for the door. I felt like I was a recording that got stuck and kept repeating, I kept starting over again every day, and that feeling sucked.
All I had wanted since my dad died was to feel happy again. The feeling of being numb had become normal and each day resulted in me crying myself to sleep. You don't understand what it felt like to be unloved and not wanted. I really hated myself and everyone deserved to know that, everyone deserved pain because I know that half the smiles I saw each day were fake.
I ran away from home a few times until the police would find me hiding somewhere in the woods. Once I stopped that I would continue to beat myself up. I deserved to suffer.
Once my dad left, a part of me left and I forgot how to have friends. I sat alone at school every day and when people walked by me they would stare with hateful eyes as if I was an animal in a cage. I deserved to feel terrible because if that was how everyone else thought of me, then I guess it was true.
My suicide story is not some special thing. It is not unique and it is not a big deal, so don’t make it one. I was done with the world. I felt like no one cared about my existence. The one person that meant the world to me was gone and I just figured that maybe I could finally be with that person again.
My mom went away with her boyfriend for the weekend and for some reason she decided to leave me home alone. The fact that she thought that that was a good idea still confuses me. It just shows how she really did not notice me and how she even did not realize that I was in need of help and love.
It was snowing outside. The white flakes covered the windows and it darkened the inside of the house. I was just sitting on my bed and I knew that I could not bare to see the two of them come home the next day, smiling and laughing as if everything was okay. I knew that I could not handle that, neither could I pretend that everything was still fine.
I went into my mom’s cabinets above her sink and found a bottle full of little white pills. At this point I was not fully conscious of what was even happening. I was just going through the motions, tripping over my own two feet from the alcohol that still left a burn in my throat, a reminder of reality. I went into my room and sat down on my bed, staring at my hands, pills in one, alcohol in the other. I shook the little bottle into my hand, about ten spilled out. I sat there looking at them for what felt like forever. My hand was shaking and I knew I had to do it. I took my phone and quickly sent a text to my mom “Goodbye. Thank you.”
At that point I knew that it was too late to go back because if I did I would have to come up with an explanation for the text. Then I threw my phone on the floor, hundreds of little cracks spread across the screen. I took the pill bottle and poured ten more in my hand. Now with twenty pills in my hand, I quickly shoved them in my mouth and swallowed with the alcohol. Another burning sensation traveled down my throat. I then preceded to get in bed under the covers and shut my eyes. I squeezed them and held my breath feeling life pause. I was just there, still, alone, quiet  and then I drifted off, dreaming about my dad.
I think that I am awake now but things are different. Everything is white and bright and clear but fuzzy. It is soft and calm and simple but confusing. I don’t even know how to express where I am because everything is overwhelming. But I do know that I have made it. I know that I am here.
“Dad, dad are you there? Dad can you hear me, I want you to hear me, PLEASE HEAR ME!”
“I’m home now dad, I’m home!”
“Did you miss me dad? Tell me you missed me, I missed you dad.”
“I love you dad. Don’t worry I’m not going anywhere, I’m here now….to stay.”
“Can you hear me dad?”
“Dad are you there?”
“Dad?”
“Dad!”
“DAD!!!”