Where am I? It looks like my room, smells like my room. But something seems different. I look around a bit and when I step inside my closet, I take a step back. I force myself to look again and there, I see myself! I'm hanging from a noose tied to the ceiling, eyes open but with a glazed look over them. My skin is ghostly pale and cold to the touch. But that can't be me. I mean, I'm me. Or at least I think I'm me. I race over to the floor-length mirror in the corner of my room, but where there should have been my reflection, was my bed on the opposite side of the room. I desperately try to remember what had happened before I woke up in my room. Nothing comes to mind. It's all a blur.
What I did remember was a life of not being enough for anyone. I was too fat, too ugly, and not good enough to deserve anyone's love. School was ground zero for me. Everyday I would come to school where my bullies would feast upon my carcass of a body. Every night I would go home to a family that cared more about their perfect youngest daughter than they did about their first born. I was ignored and whenever something bad happened, it was always my fault. I remember the endless nights of cutting, bloody wrists, and tear-soaked bed sheets. I would cry myself to sleep at night, drifting off to the emotionless abyss of dreams, longing for the day when all my suffering would end.
I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. I have nowhere to hide, but it's too late. My parents have already arrived. I sit there on the floor of my closet panicking. But, they don't see me; instead they see the person hanging from the noose. They start to cry uncontrollable tears, and my dad, quivering, unties the rope and pulls me down, desperately trying to coax my lifeless body to breathe again. My mother has collapsed to her knees in despair, worrying that this might be her fault.
It is in that moment that I realize, I'm dead! I'm forever going to be 18 years old. I'm never going to graduate college or get married or start a family. I'm never going to be able to give my sister advice about her first boyfriend or first dance or anything. I'm DEAD! Because of my decision, I am doomed to be trapped in this never-ending half-life universe, stuck somewhere between the world and the great beyond. My parents hug my body; their agonizing sobs crush me. I feel regret. They weren't supposed to react like this; nobody ever cared about me.
Why did I do this? I never thought anyone would miss me if I died. I always felt like everyone around me considered me as a waste of space. But now, watching my parents cry over my lifeless body hurt more than anything I'd ever imagined. I used to slit my wrists when I felt numb, just to feel something, but now, I wished that I was no longer feeling anything. Suicide was supposed to rid me of my suffering, not increase it. Now the pain that I had been feeling in life was being shared with my parents. Now I wished I could take it all back. Maybe taking my life wasn't a good idea after all.