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A Reflection of my Life
I was trapped starring at the reflection in front of me. It reminded me of porcelain doll. Large blue eyes void of all emotion, the skin as pale as ivory, and the lips full and blood red. Her hair was cinnamon in color, sort of a reddish brown and was draped around her face in an almost angelic way.
She was the image of someone long dead, and her reflector was a cheap piece of wood and a mound of dirt. The girl I saw was so beautiful and seemed to have so much purpose left in life. Her hands gently folded and her expression was one of contentment. Her eyes gazed without moving, and her lips were forever silenced.
It hit me like a ton of bricks, that girl was me! I was the pretty girl in the casket, and buried six feet under. Then I heard the voices. The sound of my mothers screams was like glass shattering in my ears.
“No! No! Not my Kelsey! No!”
Then I saw the look my father had on his face on that same night. A look I knew well for I had practiced it for so long. It was the look that created a wall your emotions could not pass through. If by chance one got through all would be lost, and your wall would crumble and never be able to be built back up. It was his lack of visual emotion that proved how much he actually felt.
I heard the sobs of both of them as they held each other that night. Sobs that ripped through my heart and made me understand that I wasn’t the only person to ever feel pain and devastation. I was a person, and all people feel. I heard the pain in their voices and knew, this was not what I had wanted.
The night I killed myself was a night I will not soon forget. I stood in an empty alley 2 miles from home with a gun in my hand. I really missed him, and it tore me apart. I was 16 years old when he died. Ryan. The boy who had been my every thing. He was a role model, a teacher, a friend, and many other things, but most of all I loved him and he loved me. He was my brother.
I had pleaded with him to stay home. I didn’t want him to leave and become part of that terrible war. Now, my voice sounds like a mere echo.
“Ryan! Please don’t! We are in a war!” “Please? I don’t want you to die!” Still my cries went unheard. He was a man and felt the need to keep me safe and free from harm, and the only way he knew how to do that was by fighting for me.
I was saddened by his departure, but I was still a happy carefree girl. That is, I was, until I got the letter. It read:
If you get this letter, I wont be coming home. I asked a friend to send it for me so that I could tell you one more time how much you mean to me. I want you to be proud of me and think that I went down heroically on a battlefield in Europe, even if I don’t.
I want you to know when I die I will whisper the words “I love you” for only you. You are my best friend, but don’t miss me to much. When you think of me, think of a hero, your hero, someone you love. Keep me close to your heart and don’t ever forget me.
I am so very proud of you. You have become a beautiful young lady. Some guy will be lucky to have a girl like you on his arm.
Your Big Brother,
p.s. I love you sis!
I have been in a downward spiral since then. I began secretly drinking my misery away behind my parents’ backs. Trying to hide the alcohol on my breath. Soon, the whiskey wasn’t enough. I began to hurt myself in hopes that maybe, just maybe the physical pain would take the mental pain away, or at least less noticeable. Eventually that didn’t even help. Death seemed the only way out. Simple, fast and forever.
That is how I found myself in the alley, gun in hand. I didn’t even think twice. I put the gun to my chest and pulled the trigger. I felt hot, blazing pain rip through my chest, then it went numb everything went numb. I watched the blood that had so often kept me alive when all I wanted was to die drain from the gapping hole. I watched as life left my body and smiled. Its over, its done. Everything went black.
That was years ago now, I would have been 21 today. I regret my foolish mistake, but I cant go back. My parents lost both children within 2 years time, and have no one left. Since the night I died they have never quite been the same. Daddy seems quieter, and sad, and mom is just a huge ball of nerves, everything putting her over the edge.
My mistake was not killing myself, it was that I couldn’t look past my own wall of emotion to see what other people felt. Had I know it would have changed their lives so drastically I would have never done it. I never realized I would cause them so much pain. Death had seemed the only way out of my own misery that I didn’t ever stop to think of how miserable my death would make them. I made a mistake and now I am trapped in eternity, reliving it forever.