I wanted out, out of the small town I’d grown up in. Out of that house, which was far too big to be in such a small town.
That huge house, on top of the hill that overlooked the town, was empty, quiet. So quiet that every footstep you took echoed through the halls. Each and every cough, sneeze, whisper could be heard on the other side.
I wanted to never see my parents again. Though, that wasn’t much of a problem since they were such a rarity. They were such a rarity in that god forsaken house, that I could throw a huge party every time they’d returned. Though they’d never be there long enough to enjoy it.They were home more often until I’d started going to school. They’d only come for my birthday after that. After my tenth birthday, they seemed to forget I’d even existed. Caught up in their own little worlds.
They didn’t even come home when I’d had to be rushed to the emergency room because of appendicitis. I’d had to have my appendix removed, a whole organ, and they didn’t come. I was twelve at the time. I’d received a call from both of them, and even when I cried, and begged, pleading for them to come home, they didn’t. They had both been distant, not truly paying attention to their crying child. They were both having a conversation in the background. My mother had even gotten angry at me, telling me to, ’suck it up and deal with it.’
It was then, as my father hung up just like my mother had minutes before, that I gave up. I gave up on my parents ever acknowledging me, loving me like they should.That was when I’d started hating my existence, and stopped believing in any sort of god. My life began to fall apart. I no longer had hopes, no longer had dreams. I no longer wanted to be a vet, doctor, singer, actress. I was twelve, and I wanted to die.
I was fourteen when I tried it. It was my fourteenth birthday and I’d had my last hopes crushed when my parents, my own parents, didn’t even call. No gifts, no card in the mail. Nothing. I would’ve been content with a distant phone call with a background conversation. At least then I would have known they hadn’t completely forgotten about me. But they had, and the dark spiral I’d been on for the two years leading up to what sent me straight to my room and its tall, perfect archways.
The emptiness, that pale emptiness that filled my chest, crushing my soul. The voice that sounded so similar to my own, calling me names and pushing me further. Each engulfed me, taking hold of my very being, controlling my every move as I dragged myself up the large flight of stairs, leading to the second floor, and ultimately, my bedroom. It’s tall, beautiful arches were basically calling to me.
I’d removed the rope from the closet, tying it into the perfect shape. I threw it over the arch, just as I had practiced time and time again, just in case. I tied it up, and tested that it was secure. I then took the tallest stool I had available and stood on it, gently putting my head through the noose before kicking the stool over. Letting go.
I’d later been told that one of the maids that worked in the mansion had entered the room, calling 911 after cutting me down.
I had woken up 3 days after the attempt, a bandage around my neck, covering the severe rope burn, caused by both a rope too thin and the movement that had happened when I fell. An empty heart and an empty room. I was alone. I had been seconds away from death when the maid had found me. Seconds later and I wouldn’t have lived. Seconds later and it would’ve been irreversible. At the time, I really wished she’d been too late. I was a broken husk of a human shell, and I knew that all too well.
I cried when I woke up to that empty hospital room. For myself, at how pathetic I’d become. I’d cried for myself, knowing my parents would never care for the being they’d given life to. Their own child.
When the tears finally dried, I’d realized that maybe I deserved better. It’s funny how sometimes you have to reach rock bottom to see your true worth.