When did my life start going wrong? I barely remember the last time I smiled. How long was it? A decade? Half of it? Or even much earlier than that?
I believe it all started with the death of my mother. She was a beautiful soul, or so I have been told by my father. He was a delusional man who fell in love with his ten-year-old daughter and killed himself when he started acting out on his urges. I hate him.
It's funny now, looking back, at the fact both my parents killed themselves, and I was the one blamed for it. They called me cursed, demonic, unlucky. Me? A child with no strength to change the outcome of how they turned out.
My parents dying wasn't the worst thing to happen to me. Every kid who has ever seen the inside of an orphanage knows it can always get worse, and it did. But I won't talk about those depressing moments in my life, not ever.
I walked out of the bar with my girlfriend in my arms. She was drunk and yet insisted on driving, but not on my watch. I opened the backseat, pushed her inside, and closed the door.
I took a deep breath and wondered what I was doing with my life. Why was I dating her? I didn't even love her, and at this point I don't think I even liked her.
Yet here I am, for the past week coming to this dirty place to take her drunken stupor home while I paid for her large bill and sometimes saved her from predators.
I am tired. So why do I keep doing this to myself? It's not just her. There have been others, and it's the same bullshit with varying circumstances but overall the same horrible and deplorable actions. These women are terrible, and yet I keep choosing them over actually kind ones. Something is wrong with me.
I got inside the car, started it, and drove home. I got there in ten minutes, helped Jenny out, and headed inside the building complex to my apartment.
Inside the apartment, I settled her comfortably on the couch as I fell down beside it on the carpeted floor. I brought my knees to my chest, closed my eyes, and embraced the emptiness in my chest.
How long has it been since I last cried? It's been so long I barely remember. I have grown used to the sadness, the pain, and the loneliness. I no longer feel anger or joy.
I'm like an empty flower vase. Once in a while I'm filled with flowers — a spark of some measure of peace. Then, as time goes on, that peace starts withering until it rots and dies. And then I'm back to where I belong, in a dark, hollow place.
If there's a God, I hate him.
If there's a Devil, why didn't he come claim my soul sooner?
If there's an afterlife, I hope I find peace.
If there's some light at the end of this long dark tunnel, it should've come sooner.
I hate my life.
I hate myself.
Just why was I even born? Why among the billions of possibilities was I made possible? Why me? Why did the other kids get to have a happy life? A normal life, while I got one bad decision after another?
No, I don't believe God exists. If he does, he must hate me.
I think it's time to let go. I have tried to be better, to do better, not to end up like them, but it's hard. Like them, I'm not strong enough... never was to begin with.
I got up from the floor and went to the bathroom, closed the door behind me, and started to undress while I prepared a bath. While the water filled the tub, I looked at myself in the mirror.
My eyes were as dead as ever, not a spark of light in them. I tried to smile, but it was as if my facial muscles didn't remember how, so I immediately gave up.
I opened my cabinet and took out a razor blade. A little dramatic, but it'll do. It's not like I had been planning to kill myself any time soon. I just found my current situation fitting in a way.
I walked into the tub, didn't waste time to contemplate, and vertically slashed both my wrists. I heard it was a lot harder to stitch up if I was unlucky enough to be saved, and given my track record, I wasn't taking any chances.
I let go of the blade and let it sink into the tub while I rested my head against the edge and closed my eyes as my blood dyed the water red.
My heart sturdily pounded against my chest. Past events of my life didn't flash before my eyes. I had no lingering regrets, no hopes for a paradise at the end of my life. I was simply at peace. It was finally over.
"Not yet."
A voice was reaching out to me as my soul yearned for oblivion. It was gentle, melancholic, and lifeless. My eyes heavily opened on their own, and I was confronted with a beautiful dark figure floating in front of me.
She had a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, swirling dark eyes that seemed to bore into my soul.
"Why are you sad?" I asked groggily.
"Because you're trying to leave me," she replied.
Her voice was soft yet powerful.
I didn't know how, but somehow I knew her. She was an old friend, my loved one, my partner, my soulmate, my light, my darkness, the source of what's destined to end, my guide to a better afterlife. She was the Grim Reaper, a poor soul forced to guide many of her old friends to the afterlife, leaving her all alone... forever.
She's a kindred spirit. Just like me, she was alone.
"Are you here to guide me?"
She shook her head.
"It's not yet your time... I can't send you away, not yet, possibly not ever."
"What do you mean by that? I have served my punishment. It's time I be free of this cursed world. Let me die in peace. That's all I want."
She shook her head again.
"I can't... I need you."
I was about to say something when I noticed the blood that had dyed the water slowly reverting back into my body. My eyes widened in awe, fear, and frustration.
"What's the meaning of this?" I asked.
"I can't let you die," she started saying, while slowly fading into thin air. But not before saying, "If you try to kill yourself again, another innocent soul will pay a price for me to bring you back to life. Remember that."