Entering the Abyss

I looked down, watching the blood on my arm trickle to the edge of my elbow, before falling twenty eight stories. I had never been particularly scared of heights, except this one time where I almost fell of a pair of stilts. I guess I’m not afraid because of everything that’s been going on my head right now.

My mind is seething, literally seething right now. I looked down again, watching small ant-sized people go about their business and the diminutive cars drive around the bustling city. Pausing my mental activity for one brief moment, I calculated where I would land. It doesn’t matter anyways, I decided, remembering that most people die due to heart failure even before they hit the ground. I wanted to do it. Every moral fiber in my body screamed for it, I cried out as I told myself that there would not be much time to enjoy the pain. What a stupid term, enjoy the pain. Yet I was the one who just spent a good three quarters of an hour artistically cutting my arm. I know other people who cut themselves but I am different. While the enjoyment of pain is an aim, I try to push my limits. My intentions are to make as big a hole in my body as possible, without dying. So far, I have succeeded, as you might observe. But this was different.

I knew this would make one hole that will allow death to finally conquer me. And I was not fully sure of whether I wanted to switch myself off or not. A part of me wanted to, but my logical side kicked in and wasn’t letting me. If it were not for my logical side, I would have jumped long before and wouldn’t be having this conversation with you. Wow, I hadn’t noticed…there are people down there who just noticed me. Ah crap! Now they will send an ambulance and some idiotic policeman will come and try and talk me out of it. This actually increases the level of stress on the person. If you want to commit suicide, and are considering whether to do it or not and everyone starts interrupting you, it’s not good. You will most likely hurry you’re thinking process and make a rash decision. It’s funny how cops always presume mass psychology.

The door burst open behind me. I did not have to look back. I knew who it was. “Dude, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Said Paul, clearly tired from climbing stairs. I didn’t reply. I did not know what to say. It was embarrassingly clear that Pal was simply trying to make a conversation and delay my actions. „Don’t you come a step closer!” I warned, lifting one foot. I watched myself balance on one foot, on the edge of a tall skyscraper. Fighting the temptation to keep my pose and get Paul to take a picture, I replaced my foot and resumed thinking. „You don’t have to do this. Don’t be a coward. What’s so wrong with your life?” asked Paul, dropping his ‘negotiator voice’. “Hmm, let’s see.” I replied, getting off the ledge and walking towards him. I knew he wanted me to get off the ledge and talk to him but I guess my logical side overwhelmed me and simply wanted someone to talk to.“I messed up with Sarah. My parents hate me. My mom has made sure I can’t write. I only really have one friend who is ditching me. My parents found out I smoke. I am bullied every bloody day. I might be sent to a messed up boarding school.

Nobody gives a shit about me. If I died right now, today would be the only day where somebody would be concerned about me. That’s it. I don’t matter at all.” I said, fighting the tears. I wanted to walk away from this conversation with my dignity intact. „Don’t give me that bullshit. Your parents don’t hate you. They are just trying to protect you. You did not mess up with Sarah; she’s just a bit weird. You have friends and what do you mean I’d ditch you. And tons of people get bullied. I don’t see them jumping off buildings. Pull yourself together.” Snapped Paul. „I cut myself. I am depressed.” I admitted. „What!? Are you kidding right now?” Paul exploded. I silently pulled up my long sleeves which revealed a multitude of deep-seated scars. I almost felt proud for a moment when I saw Paul watch my mutilated arms in dismay. „That tears it. I am dragging you to the mental-ward right now.” Paul said, standing up. „Mental-ward? Don’t you think I know about that? Don’t you think I’ve tried it? I took medicine for depression.

I took classes. I took up hobbies. The only thing I have picked up from stupid counseling and all that crap is writing. I write, Paul. That’s the one thing I do. And now my mom has ruined that too. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, and I just realized. This was…awkward.