Nobility

Do you believe in the nobility of suicide...?

She stared in the mirror for several minutes, not trying to prep or primp for anything, but just to stare until she didn't recognize her face anymore. She did this quite often and it both scared her and excited her. It was like she wasn't her anymore, she wasn't real and she desperately wanted to believe that none of her life was real anymore.

She was an avid writer of poetry, stories, songs, anything that came into her head. She had a tendancy to flirt too much and fall in love too quickly. She got hurt easily, but no one would know about it. Like every young girl, she had a front that she had to keep up so that she could keep people out.

Therapy never worked for her. She had a lot of mental and emotional problems, a lot of which even her closest friends had no idea about, but she always felt mocked by those people. They repeated back to her what she already knew, and what good did that do?

You've lost your way...you've fallen down...

If those of you reading this couldn't already tell, I am writing in the third person. This is my cry for help out of the life I've created for myself, the wrong choices that I've made. This is my last work of art, the last thing that I am choosing to do of my own free will. The voices in my head are telling me to not write down, to not explain, but I must. It isn't in me to leave the story unfinished.

I will rise like a phoenix from the ashes...

I hope that I have touched people's lives in some way or another, and those who remember me, I hope that you do not remember me for this. For the way I have been forced to end my life. I want to set the record straight for those who think they know me and those who have no clue.

I am two people at once. I am kind, caring, vaguely religious and generous to a fault. I have the urge to make people happy, at whatever expense to myself. On the other hand, the other me has the urge to manipulate and deceive those I love, those I hold close. It keeps me safe from being hurt again, like I have let myself be hurt so many times. There are a select few who have not been touched by my deceptions and those are the ones that keep my heart as though it were their own.

When I tell someone I love them, it has not always been true. Though, those who I have truly loved, know that I have loved them. I believe it's a look I get in my eyes. I have wanted to marry a total of two people in my life. One of them was only fantasy, because I wanted to marry the image I saw of that person, not who they really were. The second I hoped to not be pure fantasy, for I would have accepted in a heartbeat, and he knows this.

I have a flair for the dramatic when I write, I believe it's so that my internal drama doesn't get so out of hand in "real life" because anyone who knows me at all knows I can't stand drama.

Hours
Spiral and coil into black
Some remembered, some forever gone

I can never get my time back. I can't take back the decisions I have made. They are set in stone. I had always hoped that I could attempt to change my attitudes and actions in the future so that though I cannot change my past, I would not repeat it. But, as eventually it always happens, the voice has won. This last piece of writing is to those who I do love. To those who will miss me. I am tired of hurting people, and this is the last time I will ever do it. Think of me sometimes, for I wish to live on, and the only way I can is in your memories.

* * * * *

She sighed and ran her hand through her long brown hair, shutting the journal. She had finally finished out this notebook. The notebook full of her pain and cynicism that she had grown to despise. She took it carefully outside and set it down in the driveway, pulling out her lighter and setting it on fire. A big grin spread across her face and she lit a cigarette.

She watched it burn, all her fears and cynical comments going up in flames. "Well, at least I didn't lie. She is dead."

She turned and walked back inside, letting the rest of the journal burn and with it her fear of being hurt, her inability to hope. She was free, and she walked with a spring in her step, ready to prove to the world that she was ready to live again.