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The Ones Who Care

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He couldn’t breathe. He felt as though he was suffocating. He wanted to believe that everything will be okay. He wanted to believe that everything is fine.

His breaths were short, shallow and rapid. He wanted to calm down. He needed to breathe. Everything is okay.

Is it? Is it really okay?

Things could be worse, right? He could’ve done worse. It’s just a talk, isn’t it? A presentation?

That very word made him forget to breathe. Every forced breath felt heavy and made him want to scream and throw things. Every little bit of mockery brought back his violent tendencies.

‘Who is he?’ you might ask.

That he, is me. Me at my most vulnerable state. Me at my barest, my most exposed state.

We all have our own demons, don’t we? Our alter egos, our alternate selves, whatever you want to call it.

So I’m out here at the window, slowly wishing that I’m dead. Slowly realising that I’m dying.

But aren’t we all?

Of course, I could always choose to jump to speed up the process of dying. The window is right next to me. I could always open it and jump, or not open it and just jump while breaking the window in the process.

But I don’t want to. Not that I can anyway, for some odd reason.

I’m currently wondering about the people who will care if I died. If I choose to jump. Would mum and dad care? Would my brothers and sister care? Would my friends care? Would my teachers care?

I frankly do not the answer. but ask yourself that if you ever feel like leaving. Ask and go far as you can until you can get ‘yes’ as the answer; even if that means that you have to ask if some random stranger would care if they somehow heard the news of your death.

Just know that people care. I care, I truly do. Find me by the window; I’m always here, and I always will be.

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