Fix Me

May 19, 2009
By Jaynifer BRONZE, Port Dover, Other
Jaynifer BRONZE, Port Dover, Other
4 articles 3 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
People do this a lot. They don’t seem to realize that the future is just like now, but in a little while, so they say they’re going to do things in anticipation of some kind of seismic shift in their worldview that never actually materializes. But everything’s not going to be made of leather, the world won’t stink of sherbet. Tomorrow is not some mythical kingdom where you’ll grow butterfly wings and be able to talk to the animals you’ll basically feel pretty much the same way you do at the moment.

Sui-cide / n
1. The act of killing oneself purposely
Dis-gust / n
1. The strong dislike one feels for something nasty and sickening

And in truth, wasn’t that what it was? Disgust for oneself? Strong disliking put Carleigh underground at 17. Carleigh...a dancer, an artist, a lover, a sister, a daughter, a friend...a corpse, a lifeless skeleton contained in a mahogany box six feet under air, grass and emotion.

A gray, scarred 76 pound 17 year old girl serving life that’s taken. In the mirror above , I see similar thing. Also gray scarred and weightless. But behind the glaze of starvation, lies a little bit of life left in these eyes.

Grass underneath sky, grass underneath my feet, and Carleigh underneath the grass.

We were best friends. We found each other amidst unloving parents, unfaithful boyfriends and sluts at school. Sharing a bond with one another we would drag our lifeless, pale bodies out from the basement of Carleigh’s Mom’s house to sit on a park bench and watch the world fly by. Instead of riding bikes, we would run till out bodies gave up before our minds and smother each other in exhaustion. We picked out pictures of models in magazines and cut off the body parts of their we wish we had. Some days it was their emancipated arms or their collapsed legs. We would steal money from her mom and walk to the drugstore, seeing which eyeliner would look best on our thin, horselike, youthful faces. We would sit and stare instead of gossip and talk.

And now, all I’ve ever had, ever had, was buried forty five minutes ago in Hill Creek Cemetery. She could be my shoulder, my rock, my arm to cry on. Together we were 148 pounds of love, problems with our parents and collapsing organs. Together we were skin, bones, mind and heart. And together we could be insecure. Together we could be each other. We could be ourselves.

Al-o-pe-ci-a / n
1. Loss of hair; baldness

It falls out when I get stressed out. That’s been a lot lately. I thought that maybe if my body was beautiful, they wouldn’t notice the shame behind the wig. But when you’re body resembles a rotting corpse, it doesn’t help a lot.

The funeral had been quiet. Nobody said a lot of things but we all knew we were thinking the same thing. How could someone so beautiful and with so much potential, kill herself. How could she drag a shiny, metal blade across the skin on her wrists, and somehow find the courage to press down. How would she have felt when she knew she couldn’t go back. Would she have wanted to? But even if she did, what could she have done. She didn’t even leave a note. When we talked about suicide with each other before, she always scared me by going into so much detail. She used to scare me by saying that she would do it someday, that she had already made up her mind. She’d tell me that she wouldn’t leave a note, that it would shock everyone more without it and then they’d feel bad about treating her that way.

But how can you know, when you can’t feel anything? It’s not like you can take something back when the blood is falling down your arm, and making puddles on the bathroom floor.

Her mom found her. She would always tell me lies about them. That they beat her, and that they were the reasons for the cuts on her arm and her vomit in the toilet. But it was wrong. Her parents didn’t beat her. And the reasons for the cuts and the scars and the weight loss, was because of a mental disorder, not because of what anyone did to her.

Looking into the mirror, I saw myself. Weak, and powerless, once strong and feminine. It was an obsession with death that drove Carleigh to do what she did. And it was the obsession that Carliegh had, that had influence me to do what I did. In my hand, clutched so hard that my skinny knuckles are turning white. I looked to the mirror, tear rolls down my face.

What will my parents do when they find my lifeless, bloodless body, slumped on the bathroom floor. They would probably feel sick to their stomachs. Be filled with fear. I didn’t want to put them through that, I really didn’t and I realize that I was about to do was the most selfish thing I would have ever done, but then again, it would be the last thing I’ve ever done.

my regular person would be crying right now but I am feeling a quiet calm. It’s just the reassurance that everything would be over soon. The knife is on my wrist now, and starting to press down. It f****** hurts. It hurts more than anything I’ve ever done. And then it’s over. The cut is made. There is no going back now. I feel trapped. I want to go back, I want to start it all over again! I was just curious! I DON’T WANT TO DIE! But then I remember Carleigh, and her way out. If I went through with this, we could be together again in hell. Cause god hates sinners. He hates the suicides.

I sit down on the floor, starting to feel sick. I feel the gravity pulling the blood down my arm, see it staining my clothes and starting to pour out onto the bathroom floor. The puddles are forming. I can see my name written in the puddles. I can see it.

I can feel the end coming now. I can feel the sweet release upon my soul. I can feel the rush of death on me. I’m praying. Just praying. Please god, when and if I reach the golden gates, fix me god. Please fix me. I never wanted to be broken. I never wanted to get broke. I just wanted to be thin, thin. I never wanted to be dead, dead. My eyes are closing now. My eyes are closing now. Everything’s getting darker now. Mommy please help me. Guide me home. Guide me to get better. Guide me to get better.

My last though is that I remember a song, by Coldplay I once heard. Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones, and then I will try to fix you. All I ever wanted was to get fixed! ALL I’VE EVER WANTED WAS TO BE FIXED! NOT BROKEN ANYMORE, NOT BLEEDING ANYMORE!
My body is freezing. The blood is falling down the ventilation shaft, trickling down, down, down.
Please Mommy. I don’t want to, want to, don’t want to, want to die. This is too hard mommy. I can’t help you now mommy. I’m sorry mommy. I love you mommy. I love you daddy.
I see a light at the end of the tunnel, a light now. There’s a scary figure at the light. I want to run away, I want to be with Carleigh. I want to blow bubbles.

I’m forever blowing bubbles. Pretty bubbles in....the....

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