For a second, everything felt too quiet. Too still. My chest was tight, my breath coming in shallow gasps as I lay there, feeling the weight of my body against the mattress.
I couldn't move. I didn't want to. But then my eyes caught something across the room.
A notebook.
It sat on the chair in the corner, as if it had always been waiting for me. The worn leather cover, the faint scent of paper... it was the one thing in this room that felt real, and I could almost hear it calling to me.
I didn't know how long I'd been here, how long I'd been held captive in this suffocating place, but the sight of that notebook made me forget the pain for a moment. I had to get to it.
I pushed myself up, wincing as every muscle screamed in protest, but I didn't care. The notebook was a lifeline. I crawled across the floor, my hands shaking as I dragged myself forward, the rough texture of the tiles scraping against my legs
When I reached it, my fingers closed around it, and for a moment, I just stared at it in my hands. Blank. Empty.
The pen inside it seemed to weigh a ton, like it was begging me to write, but I wasn't sure what to say. What did I even have left to say? Who was there to hear it?
I opened the book, feeling the rough texture of the pages as I flicked through them. Blank pages. Pages that were waiting to be filled.
I held the pen, the ink slow to flow as I started to write. My hand was unsteady at first, but with each word, something inside me loosened. . I just needed to get the thoughts out of my head, to stop them from swallowing me whole
Dear Mom,
Why does it hurt so much? Why does it always have to be me?
I don't even know where I am, Mom. I don't know who these people are or what they want. I'm scared, I'm hurting, and I don't know much longer I can pretend to be brave. Everything aches. Every breath burns. My wrist, my legs- everything feels broken.
Why did Jason leave me again? Why did he run when I needed him the most? Was I not worthy fighting for?Was I not enough? You always told me love meant staying, no matter how hard it got. Why didn't he stay? Why did he leave me to rot in the dark?
I keep thinking about you, about how you used to sit on my bed and tell me no nightmare could touch me as long as you were there. Where are you now Mom? Why aren't you here? Why does it feel like you left me to suffer too?
Was I a bad daughter? Is that why you had to leave that soon? Did I disappoint you? I'm I disappointing you now, lying here, crying, weak, broken?
I'm trying to be strong. I swear I'm trying. But how do you fight when everything inside you is already shattered? How do you scream for help when no one is listening? How do you believe you'll survive when even the people you trusted have abandoned you?
Mom, did you ever feel this lost? Did you ever question if you were worthy of saving?
Im tired. So tired. But I don't want to give up. I just need you to tell me it's okay to be scared. That it's okay to cry. That it's okay to still hope even when everything feels hopeless.
Please, Mom. I don't know how to do this without you. I miss you so much. I need you so badly. Please don't let me die here alone. Please...
Tears blurred the words on the page, smudging the ink beneath my trembling hands. I tried to hold the pen steady, tried to finish what I had started, but my body betrayed me.
The sobs came harder now, wracking through me with a force I couldn't control. I pressed the notebook against my chest, curling into the mattress.
I wanted to be strong. I wanted to keep writing. But my body was too tired. My heart was too heavy.
The fight in me dimmed with each breath, the darkness pressing closer until it swallowed everything.
The last thing I felt before sleep dragged me under was the sting of salt on my lips... and the hollow ache of being completely, devastatingly
alone.