As I walk into my house I see my mom passed out on the couch. Pills are scattered across the coffee table ? looks like oxycodone; typical. As I continue to my room and set down my bag, my dad comes in the door. He stumbles through the hallway and plops on the couch next to his wife. He tried to say something, but all the words mixed together like a bowl of potato salad. Before I go to bed I walk up to my parents, I put my finger under their noses and watched their chests rise and fall for a couple minutes to confirm what I hoped to be true. After the routine checks, I climbed in bed and stared at the ceiling as I began to fall into the dark and twisty place in my head. It hadn’t even been one minute until I started to cry ? not just a couple of tears, but the ones that are accompanied with your heart physically hurting. I cried because I didn’t understand why I had to be born to parents that were addicts when everyone else got a normal family, but God remained silent. Finally, after the crying ceased, I rolled over on my wet pillowcase and lied there until the morning.
School wasn’t much better for me. I would walk through the halls and no one would say hi, no one would acknowledge my presence, no one except for my best friend Carson. If it weren’t for him I probably wouldn’t be alive. Carson was the only person who has ever went out of his way for me. Four years ago, on our first day of high school an upperclassman locked me in a locker. I stayed there for two periods until the owner opened it. The owner, as you may have guessed, was Carson. Once Carson found me in his locker he took me under his wing and fought off any predator that had their eye on me. It was a match made in high school. But regardless of having a bodyguard as a friend, we didn’t have any classes together so I remained vulnerable.
I was never really safe.
On my eighteenth birthday I woke up gasping for air. Another nightmare disrupted my sleep. I sat up and an uneasy feeling filled my body as if it was replacing my blood; the house was too calm to be my own. Despite this feeling, I packed up and went about my day. After the eight hours of hell was over I returned to the prison that was my house. As I walked up the steps, I noticed the door was cracked opened, and that’s when the screaming filled my ears. I pushed the paint chipped door open quietly to see my parents fighting. Normally I would be unbothered by the foolish bickering between my parents, except this time my dad had his hand wrapped around the Glock 19 he inherited from his grandfather. I see my father raise the gun and point it at my mother’s head. I stand there unseen by either of them. The gun is fired. The clink of the shell hitting the ground rattles around in my brain. I see her collapse. Dead. I turn to see my dad staring at me in the eyes. My heart is racing thinking that I am next. Again, he raises the gun and my eyes shut; I am ready to die. I hear the clink of the shell. My eyes open and see that I am still alive. I go into my closet, grab my in case of emergency bag and leave. I didn’t call 911, I simply just left.
Now, I’ve been living with Carson and his family since my parents died, and it’s been a lot easier than I thought mostly because my parents weren’t parents. They gave me genes but they didn’t raise me, they didn’t support me, and they didn’t love me. I was a burden to them and an extra mouth they barely fed. Who knew all I needed to be happy was my parents dying! I’ve been getting A’s in all my classes, and I’ve made new friends who actually want to be around me. Life threw unexpected turns at me and I came out better on the other side. I can finally say I am happy for the first time in my life.
After my short lived happiness I’ve learned to not get my hopes. Everything that is good comes to an end no matter what I do to preserve it. Today my best friend died. He died and left me all alone. The police said it wasn’t his fault, and that the guy in the other car was three times over the legal limit. I always see these accidents on the news and thought how terrible it is for the families of the victims. I never thought it would be me. How someone can be so selfish? How can you put others in danger because you didn’t want to call a cab? There is a special place in hell for those people; a place that my parents are in. The only person in the world that I cared about was taken from me. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair. How am I supposed to go on without the only person that was there for me is gone?
I don’t think I can.
The next week at school wasn’t the same. It was as if someone muted the whole school. No one said anything unless it was absolutely necessary. Teaching was optional, and crying was encouraged. On Friday, the school held an assembly in Carson’s memory. The principal asked me to speak. I said no; I couldn’t. Instead, I put together a slideshow with pictures of us and at the end a farewell note that he will never get to see. My presentation moved the whole school, so much so, random people came up to me to give their condolences, but I didn’t want their pity. I want my friend back, and that, they cannot give me.
That night, I lay awake in my bed playing over the last week in my head trying to figure out what to do next. I couldn’t find the answer I was supposed to find, though deep down I knew exactly what to do. I slip out of my room and sneak downstairs to grab what I needed. I return back and climb back into bed and sit there silently. I have endured so much pain, so much heartache, so much sadness it is unbearable anymore. The things that have happened to me were uncontrollable, but the answer to my problems is something I have complete control over. I wash it down with a gulp of water and close my eyes. Tonight I will not be awaken by nightmares ? tonight I will sleep for eternity.