AUTHORS NOTE: using a defense mechanism, (Being far from a personal expeerience) the short story is about a girl who doesnt realize that her life is crumbling before her and refuses to do anything to get out of the mess. It only pushes her so far to the point where she attends her own funeral.
Free
“It’s simple” they encouraged me. “Put your mouth against the tip and inhale as much as you can, hold it in for about 10 seconds then release.” I could feel the thick smoke fill my lungs as my brain started to feel uneasy. As soon as I released my breath the windows fogged, a nauseating aroma of skunk filled the sealed car. My nervousness soon started to fade away as my muscles relaxed and everything started to move in slow motion. My heart slowed down into a heavy slow thump that tingled throughout my body every time it beat. The heavy bass of Kid CuDi rattled my brain, my whole body vibrated to the rhythm. My thought process, my reflexes, everything, started to fade right then and there.
Ever since that night I knew I was corrupted. The lying, drinking, partying, it all began. I ran blindly, without intention, in fear such as I had never known in my life. I soon lost innocence of everything I’ve ever known. Grades were dropping, and the carelessness had been triggered. I needed motivation but I had absolutely nothing. Everything was dissolving at that point. I looked up to my parents, but that came to an end when my father went to prison when a party of the police came, very unexpectedly, into the house, and proceeded again to make rigorous investigation of the premises, which was quite lovely; and my mother was so mentally unstable she was not there for me anymore. I knew right from wrong, it was the fact that I didn’t really care; I started not to give a **** and stopped fearing the consequences. My life was unbelievably good. I had everything a teenage girl could want: my friends, and the night.
“Where were you?” My mother said strictly as I entered the door. “Out.” I said as I walked straight into my room and closed the door behind me. We didn’t talk for the rest of the night. That night I also heard distant silent sobbing from upstairs. I knew my mother was crying. “It’s probably one of her mood swings” I convinced myself, she’ll be better in the morning. This daily routine of hanging out with my friends and participating in illegal activities, not doing homework and coming home at 10 PM continued for months. I found no problem with this what so ever. I could catch up with my homework later, and do my chores later. My mother was doing just fine and I was living the life to its full potential.
It was a clear day, and yet there seemed an intangible pall over the face of things, a subtle gloom that made the day dark. The room was silent. Nothing but the faint sound of the heart beat monitor. I sprang up from my bed when I had a dream that I was falling off a bridge, about to hit the sharp rocks below that had death written all over them. As I awoken realized I was not home. As beads of sweat dripped down my forehead as I looked around. It was pitch black in the small quarters and my hazy vision couldn’t make out where I was. Feeling nauseous, dizzy, and baffled I tried to feel around for my phone, to get some recognition of the night time and date. Trying to get up to go to the bathroom, I was jolted back from a sharp yanking pain from my right hand. I started to panic when I realized that I was in a hospital gown as soon as my bare, weak feet had hit the chilly marble floors of the hospital. Where was I? What had happened to my friends? What did I do last night?
“Was this overdose intended?” I was questioned, I felt confused, overwhelmed, distorted and sleep was the only thing on my mind. “No, it was an accident.” I convinced her. I wondered who would do this to me. Who would want me to overdose? Was this intentional? Who would try to hurt me like that? Millions of questions overflowed my brain all at once. “I must have underestimated my pill tolerance.” I told them. “Then what are these marks on your wrist?” I looked down to see deep cuts. Startled I told them “I have no clue” I stated with honesty. The woman looked at me with a deceiving glare as she marked me down for and accident and not a suicide attempt. Relieved, I got back in my mother’s car to have a completely silent ride home. I wondered what troubled her. She was scared, that’s all.
Still confused on what had all happened. I pushed it to the back of my head. I was not going to let a little incident like this prevent me from living my life. Like I said, I had my friends, had the night, and I’d be alright. Because I had nothing worry about, everything was just fine.
Sitting down at my therapy classes I did nothing but day dream and look at the clock. Every second seemed like an hour. Plus, I’ve heard this bull shit a million times “You need to open yourself up and share your feelings.” “Marijuana is a gateway drug.” Did they not think I knew that? What do people not get when I tell them that I know and I still don’t care. Saying that marijuana is a gateway drug is the same damn thing as saying “Learning how to walk means you’ll be running from the cops in no time.” I thought. They had no clue what they were talking about. I appreciate their help but I was sure, did not need it.
It wasn’t until I was sitting at my own funeral when I realized I had gone too far. I’ve officially fucked up. Looking down at my mother sobbing and stuttering trying to give a speech, I’ve never felt such pain. I should have done something when I had the chance. I made her miserable and I knew she was throughout this whole process. My whole family and friends were there. I never actually realized how many people were there for me, and how many people loved me. How many people I could have gone too when I needed help. But it was all too late now. Weakness filled me as I soon realized that now I could never get married, have kids, go to college, graduate. What have I done to myself and everyone that had loved me, what have I done.
