It was a Sunday night and I said goodbye to my coaches and teammates realizing it was the last time I’d see them, and them not realizing I was saying goodbye and not goodnight. I got home, took a shower, and said goodnight to my parents, little brother and sister, and went to bed, or so they thought.
I waited until the house was dead silent and everyone was sound asleep. I went into the medicine cabinet, grabbed every pill bottle I could see, went back to my room and popped them all into my mouth. 105 pills later I started seizing and foaming at the mouth. It was happening, it happened. I was dead.
My mom and dad found me the next morning, screaming for Jesus because they couldn’t believe their baby was gone. I ruined my family from that point on all because I was selfish enough to kill myself. My 5 year old sister didn’t understand why her sissy wasn’t coming home ever again. My 14 year old brother thought it was his fault and wanted to know why his best friend didn’t talk to him about her struggles. My parents blamed themselves for not loving me enough, when in fact they did. My dad couldn’t get through one sermon without breaking down in the pulpit. My mom couldn’t get out of bed anymore, she wasn’t the vibrant mother she once was while her “stinker winker” still alive. That’s what she called me and my sister.
All my friends who I thought never cared about me, attended my funeral, broken. I let my teammates down. They went to every competition with a new fill in, being reminded that they never saw it coming. My best friend who I thought abandoned me, and didn’t love me anymore, tried to kill her self because she thought she could have done more.
Now that I was gone, I never got the chance to meet my idol, my role model, my person, Kerry Washington. She would have no idea that I even existed because I decided to take my own life, of course that isn’t her loss it’s mine. My internet friends whom I met trough scandal wouldn’t see me live tweeting on Thursday’s anymore, screaming through my phone as I tweet about olitz. They would no longer see that anymore. My dog would no longer see me come through the front door running towards him ready to give him all the kisses and hugs in the world. My grandparents would soon die of heartache because they could no longer live with the fact that their Tay Tay was never be coming back.
Everyone in my life who I thought never loved me, or cared about me, who I thought wouldn’t have cared whether I lived or died, actually did. They cared this whole time. You see, if it wasn’t for my long time friend depression, I wouldn’t had been introduced into my new friend suicide. Because of Depression, I will never see my siblings grow up, I won’t see my parents get along for once, I won’t see my best friends ever again, I won’t ever meet Kerry. Because of Depression, I am no longer here. If I would have had that one spec of encouragement and love from those around me maybe I’d still be here, and maybe I wouldn’t be six feet under in a marble box, maybe I’d be the lawyer I was in school to become, thriving in D.C. raising my beautiful children with the love of my life, but I’m not. I’m gone. All of this happened because I killed myself… So please don’t think suicide is the answer because it isn’t. It doesn’t end the pain, it just passes it down to everyone that loves you. You’re not alone.