The Morning After I Killed Myself

I shot myself in the face last night. With a slug out of my 12 gauge. Unrecognizable.

My parents were gone this weekend. They thought I would be happy to have the house to myself. But myself is the last thing I needed right now. So I killed myself to ease the pain.

I think God felt bad for giving me such a shitty brain in this life, so he let me stick around for a while longer; free of a body to hold me or a mind to carry. Although no one knows it, I am still here. In the corner of my room. Watching my dead corpse with a sense of freedom in the world.

But the emotions I didn't know I still had changed when I heard gravel twisting under the pressure of car tires in my driveway. Mom and Dad are home. The chain of the garage door pulls tight as the gears scream from pulling its weight. A scream of warning, telling them to leave and never come back.

Laughter spills out of the car accompanied by the call of my name. I answer but they can't hear this version of me. No one can.

I killed myself in my room. Because that's where I felt most comfortable. Looking back, pain blinded my common sense.

They call again and again. But can't hear my response. I hide in the corner of my boarded, locked room; fearing the obvious series of events that are about to take place. I watch from the inside as my mother tries to jiggle the locked knob. As if locking my door was going to stop them from what they were about to see. It was my last attempt to capture my everlasting sadness from affecting the rest of the world.

They call my name again; each time with a louder sense of worry and concern. I answer, but they can't hear me. I thought I was lonely before.

Mom starts poking a baby pin through the small, circular hole on the outside of my door, attempting to dislodge its security. *Click* She got it. The sound of the click tries to make its way through the solid wood door, into the brain of my mother to tell her to keep it shut; that she doesn't want to see what is in there. But its impact is suffocated by the density of its body.

Now, she is a twist away from seeing the worst thing a mother can see. And it's all my fault.

As the door cracks open, the beam of light from the hallway follows its path - highlighting the death of her only child.

The birds don't sing the same anymore. The wind is stale, holding this moment in eternity. Even the sun, with no cloud in its way, seems disappointed in me today.

Ironically, the morning after I killed myself, was the worst day of my life. I see it in black and white. The deep breath I take through my nose no longer calms me. A constant stream of regret fills my head as I go deaf to joy. A loss of the senses I forgot I loved so much.

Although I am free to be anywhere. I stay in the same place I was when I was alive. Watching my mother and father suffer; while the friends I convinced myself I didn't have, came and hugged them. Maybe I should've waited to die. But I can't go back now.

Author's Note:

At this point, most people who are reading this know me personally. So I want to add that I am blessed to be a happy man, and there is nothing this life can do to me that would cause me to take my own. It's that, unfortunately, I have lost some friends and family to suicide and I guess this is maybe my way of telling them to think twice; or anyone else for that matter. Maybe taking your life isn't the answer; but who knows what happens after? You can take the time to fix what you have for the people you love and the people that love you; or give it all up for something that is a complete mystery: what happens after we die.