Recur

As I felt the cold ridges rub against the padding of my palm, only one thought came to mind: 'Will the pain really be over?' I could only hope that would be the case. Even if it wasn't for an eternity, just a moment of relief would suffice, just for one moment where the continuous burning, the scraping of broken glass against the blood vessels lining my body, and the arcane feeling of my bones twisting, and throbbing on the verge of shattering from the pure, unrelenting pressure within them. Just one moment of peace is all I craved. However, even as I prayed, I knew there would never be a moment in this life without pain. As long as I was drawing breath, I would be in agony.

So, as I sat on the edge of my bed with the black steel held firmly in my right hand, eyes closed, I prepared for the call of the dark void that would soon become my eternity.

Our Father, who art in heaven

The metallic click echoed on the four walls of my tomb as the little copper-plated painkiller settled onto its cold dark bed.

Hallowed be thy name

Tick.

Thy Kingdom come

Tick.

Like a speeding train, it hits me. Boom! The image of my husband, my soulmate, and best friend walking into the room, a Butterfinger clutched in his hand, and a large smile spread across his face coming in to greet me as he does every morning, and instead of me smiling back he finds my cold, lifeless body. Where a smile should be is just singed skin, broken teeth, and an inordinate amount of blood covering our walls and pillows. The sheer heartache threatening to break him like my pain broke me. Instead of giving the final pull that would begin my perpetual darkness, I sat the weapon down, picked up my phone, and confirmed my ride to the emergency room. No matter how bad my pain may be, causing someone else to suffer is something I am unwilling to do. So here I am, living another day, taking another breath, barely holding on to my life like duct tape holding together a broken vase.

While I would like to tell you this is the first and last time I have considered leaving this life, I cannot because it would be a lie. After the death of my mother, closely followed by my brother, my home life became a waking nightmare. The trust and love my mother taught me to have in people shattered. The wretched beings of this world tore away the confidence my brother taught me, and I learned that human nature was innately evil. While some good human beings existed, my life was encapsulated by the one-third who followed the devil. At the tender age of sixteen, I decided to end my so-called life, and for the first time in years, I finally started to feel something again. Relief. Relief that it would all be over. The physical and mental abuse and all the self-loathing because I had lived while my brother had not. Because while he was here, the evil had stayed veiled behind a mask of civility. He brought a light into the world that I could not replicate. As for me, I was hated, and I knew that. Why? Because someone needed to carry the blame, and at thirteen years old, I was picked. In retaliation to the mistreatment, I became someone I am ashamed to remember. I was angry at God, life, and everyone within that life.

The gas lighting and the fake smiles when in public just fueled an even more profound hatred and anger deep within my soul. I became a walking ball of rage. Even outside of my home, in the hands of 'trusted' family members, my sister and I were treated like literal dogs, sometimes even worse. The part that ripped the remaining alliance to humankind from me was how these evil individuals would dress us up and finally feed us when they knew our guardians were coming to visit. I was done with all of it, and all of them. So, after a short day at school, I walked with determination to the train tracks just a mere half-mile from my home and selfishly sat on them. On the nearby sidewalk lay my backpack and ID so what remained of me would be easily identifiable.

Sitting on the graveled ground between the rusted rails, I looked up at the sky, and just like on the day I found out my mother died, it was a clear blue with no clouds in sight. The calm and quiet enveloped me, and I was thankful for two things. First, that my hell would end today, and second, that the location of these tracks meant I would not be interrupted. As the minutes ticked by, I became confused about why the train was not showing up. It was at the same spot every day before and since, but it had not shown up when I needed it. You may call it a miracle, but I called it damnation. Filled with despair, I picked up my backpack and school ID and sobbed my way home. That night for the first time in a long time, I wondered if there was a reason I needed to be here and needed to experience this pain. Laying in my bed, engulfed in my devastation, I promised God I would wait and see what the rest of my life had to offer. Sixteen years later, and in a different kind of hell, I am no longer angry, nor do I perceive humanity as evil, but still, I wait to see what is to come.