I sat at the table, flipping a blade in between my fingers. Tiny cuts appeared everywhere on my hand, but I ignored them. I didn’t care anymore. My hands and fingers dripped, like a leaky faucet that never fully turned off. I didn’t want to live anymore. Not after everyone left me. I remember each and every time somebody abandoned me in my 26 years of living.

18 years ago

“What’s going on?” I asked, not understanding the situation at hand.

“Well, sweetie,” The nice woman replied, “There was an accident and your parents are in another room getting some help.”

“Oh..okay.” I said flatly, still not understanding why I couldn’t see my mom and dad. “Are they okay?”

“I”m not sure, but right now we need you just to wait and then we’ll come and get you when we find out what happened, okay?” She smiled down at me.

I nodded and went over and sat down while in the next room over, doctors tried vigorously to save my dying mother and father who, unbeknownst to me at the time, had tried to overdose. They were pumped full of various liquids and hooked up to countless machines, trying to be kept alive. They didn’t care about the eight year old kid that would have been forced into a foster home or an orphanage. No, they were just too depressed to live on, a burden that I now know.

Present

I sat back, looking at the cuts lining my fingers. “It’s not going to get better from here.” I silently said, just to clear my mind. “They’ll just send you back.”

I cringed at the memories that the hospital brought up. My parents, my friends, even my girlfriend. I started to sob as the moments of my sorrowful past forced their way to the surface.

16 years ago

I didn’t want to talk to her, the woman who had lied to me. I recalled her telling me that my parents were fine. She told me that I wouldn’t have to worry about them ever again. She didn’t know how right she was. My parents had jumped from the top of our apartment and had been smashed on the pavement upon impact. They’d left me, like they had tried to do four years ago. I was whisked away to child services and was pulled from house to house.

Present

I started to cry, dragging the small, short blade over my pearly white skin. I had stopped going outside last year, and I had almost given up on eating last week. I was visibly sick and nobody knew where I was. There was nothing that I could do to change the past, but I could make it stop. The blood was a welcoming message from death, a greeting card to the afterlife. I warmly accepted it as the rest of my life started to flash before my eyes.

9 years ago

I remembered the families and friends that I was forced to leave behind, moving from house to house. The losses that I encountered those years were hard, but not the hardest. I had a good family for a year already and I was loving it. My depression had disappeared and I had made a lot of friends. One of which had lost their sister to suicide, and we got close. We were always together and there was never anything that tried to get between us. And then something happened. Both of her parents were killed in a car crash. And she was invited to stay with my family.

She sunk into a deep depression and started to self-harm again. I did everything that I could to help her, but nothing would work. Sometimes, I would get home before my foster parents and find blood in the bathtub. My girlfriends depression got worse and then, on our 3 year anniversary she hung herself. I found her swinging in my bedroom. I had broken down and stopped eating for five days before hunger forced me to eat something, and that caused me to vomit. I tried to move on, but my depression was worse than ever. I didn’t want to live.

Present

I dragged the knife across my other wrist and inhaled deeply, the crimson fluids continued pumping but never reached the intended destination. I lay back as one last memory came to mind.

1 Year Ago

I was in the hospital, again. I had almost died, again. The doctors had me under 24/7 surveillance and there was no way that I was gonna get unstrapped. I sighed and decided right there and then that I was only going to hold on one more year. If things didn’t get better by then, I would make sure I died. I wouldn’t do it somewhere that I would be found before I was dead, I would make it slow so I could think about my crappy life.

Present

As the last breath of life started to leave me, I saw figures surround me. My parents stood above me, and my girlfriend smiled as she held my bloody hand. She leant in and kissed me lightly on the lips, befo