Thunderclap

I knew I was in trouble when I was driving home from hanging out with my friends.

I was fifteen at the time, and oblivious. Oblivious to my own thoughts and feelings, which was why I fell so hard. I no longer had ignorance, which was more blissful than creamy chocolate.

There was this guy, who I thought I liked. He thought he loved me. I sure proved him wrong.

He told me that he loved me in front of everyone. As an immediate response, I told him I loved him, too. I didn't, and at the time I knew that, but I was dumb enough to ignore that.

Yet, I couldn't hide my uncomfortable feelings. I was red in the face, simply because I didn't want him to tell me he loved me. I wanted him to leave me alone.

Maybe if I were a different person with a different background, I would fall under the spell of imaginary love. But as I drove home, I was painfully aware that I was immune to it.

My background seemed normal. I had a mother, a father, and a younger brother. However, while the surface was shiny, that layers that lie underneath were murky.

Many years ago-and I don't know how many-I was playing with my brother. I was pretending to be a baby, and I kept wailing that I had a dirty diaper.

He put his hand down there and acted like he was changing it.

It took me quite some time before I realized that even though it was an accident-I was sexually molested.

When I did realized that, I started seeing all the signs that it had affected me. I pretended not to notice them for years, because it used to be involuntary. When he would sneeze, I would flinch and put my hand across my waist. I did the same think when every time he would blow his nose, or sniff.

I wasn't able to change if I knew that he was outside the door. I was able to take a shower if he was hanging around in my mom's room, which was connected to the bathroom.

I also got meaner towards him. Everything he did would tick me off. I would yell at him for hours, hoping he would cry, because if he cried then he would feel some of my pain, too.

But he never did.

So when I was with the guy I liked, and he told me that he loved me, I couldn't help but thinking about that day. It haunted my mine. When I looked into the guy's face, and he told me he loved me, all I could see was my brother's.

I left that night feeling awful. He didn't deserve a girl like me. I was broken and beyond being able to be fixed.

I listened to music as I stared out the window. I wasn't hearing any of the melody, and I was seeing the night sky. I just wanted to escape. Escape the world I lived in. Escape the secret that I was holding inside.

When I got home that night, I thought about what I was going to do. I couldn't stand it any more. I couldn't scream, I couldn't cry, and I couldn't think. I wasn't thinking.

No, I was thinking. I was thinking about what to do. I could've told my parents, but they would just blow me off. They loved my little brother. And in some way, I did, too. If I did succeed in making him cry, I kind of felt bad about it.

I kind of felt like crying with him, too.

I explored all the options in my head. I could wait three more years and then go to college, and then I wouldn't have to come back to the place where I was slowly losing my mind.

But three years seemed so long. I wanted out now. I wasn't going to make it three years. So I went to bed, still confused on what to do.

I didn't make it through the night.

When I fell asleep, I dreamt about that day. It replayed itself in my head, and I woke up sobbing. I had a cup of water sitting next to my bed, in a blue glass cup. I snuck downstairs, and got some Advil off the top of the fridge.

I went back to my room, and took it. Every single last pill. And you know what? It felt good.

Because I was stuck in storm for most of my life, and although I didn't notice it until that night, I was sick of being cold. I was sick of being rained on, and I was sick of being wet.

And when I took those pills I saw sunshine. I was warm. In my warmth I felt...happy. I hadn't been happy ever since that day. I laughed, sure, but it wasn't my laugh. I forgot what my own laugh was like, because I never really experienced genuine laughter. My smile didn't look right on my face, because it wasn't my smile. Yet, in this sunshine I saw a real smile, and a real laugh.

I had a cat that slept on the edge of my bed every night. I think she knew that I was dying, because she came and lay next to me. I petted her until I couldn't pet anymore.

I died that night. I knew I caused my family a great pain, but I also knew that while they would heal, I never would.

In heaven, there are no thunderclaps.

I, in no way, condone suicide. If you ever feel like commiting suicide, tell someone and get help immdiately. You are too precious to this world to be taken out of it.

Also, I do have too sentence fragments in here that are meant to be there. They just felt right.

Review, flame, do whatever. I just felt like I had to post this.