Painless

Nothing helps

There’s only one reason that I’m still alive. The pills didn’t work. Maybe I didn’t take enough. Maybe I knew they wouldn’t kill me. Maybe it was just dumb luck. Whatever it was, I’m not sure how I feel about it. Sure, I’m not off trying to die again, but that’s mainly due to my laziness. I can’t be bothered to kill myself. I can’t be bothered to make my life better. I can’t be bothered to move. It’s a rather depressing way to live.

Sometimes I can. There’s days when the world seems full of possibilities. Unfortunately, they’re few and far between. I’m going to therapy today. I cancelled my last couple of appointments, but failing to successfully commit suicide has pushed my self-esteem back over the edge. I have to get dressed, but there aren’t any clean clothes. One of the many advantages to being depressed. There’s a torn, black shirt on the bed that doesn’t look too bad. Jeans are good too; no need for much washing.

On the bus, I feel like everyone’s staring at me. Talking about me. Laughing at me. Discussing my unwashed clothes and my lank, dirty hair. I lost my mp3 player, so I can’t drown out my thoughts. Instead, I gaze out the window. Watching till the houses blur into each other and the people don’t exist. I almost miss my stop.

Walking to Jean’s office, I stumble, and crash into a small child. He crumples to the ground, staring up at me in complete shock. I don’t know what to do. Should I help? He begins to cry, and his mother answers my question for me.

“Get the hell away from him you asshole!”

I mutter an apology and head on my way. My hands start shaking. My blood is racing, I think about going back. Surely therapy can’t do anything to help. Nothing can. Everything sucks. Then I look up and see where I am. The therapist’s office is only two streets away. I can make it.

The office smells like cherries and toast. It’s warm. I like it. I do my best to smile at the receptionist and mumble my therapist’s name. Her eyes open wide. What’s wrong? She looks scared. I almost decide to run away when she speaks.

“You didn’t hear?”

I shake my head, my tongue refuses to work.

“Miss Richards is…well, she died. Last week.”

The world seems to shake and revolve. I sit down on the floor. It doesn’t help.

“W-what happened?” I manage to stutter.

“I don’t know if I’m allowed to say. Um, I suppose it’s alright to tell her patients. She…she shot herself. In her heart. She didn’t leave a note. No one knows…we can’t think why she’d do it. She seemed fine. It’s so sad…so sad…”
I wasn’t listening anymore. I should have stayed home. I should have died yesterday. I stumbled out of the building, leaving the receptionist talking to herself about how sad it was. Everyone I get close to dies. I have to end the pain. I have to do something. Tears rolled down my face. I could sense the people walking past staring at me. I didn’t care anymore. Tonight, I decided. It’ll all be over tonight.

The thought of getting a new therapist never entered my head.