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Happiness as Never Before

And then I laid down on the floor and cried. If self pity is as ugly as they say, I was truly the most hideous of creatures. The beast without its beauty. I was not only alone but cast to the side; a sight too disgusting to be acknowledgeable. I sat reveling in my own self hate and sorriness as hot tears ran down my lumpy cheeks. I lay there for goodness knows how long thinking of every unfairness and wrong life had ever done to me. My eyes burned. My ears rang. My throat well up and made it impossible to wallow the lump created by sadness. My heart raged against the ribs I longed to see through my skin. A caged bird, no birds are too beautiful, a caged snake determined to be free. It's coils strangling my insides. I gasped for breath. In that clean lungful of air my solution jumped out just as clear as the air. It hovered before my eyes in a glorious image of release. I lifted myself from the ground committed. There were to be no more delusions, no more hopes for a future I knew I'd never have. This was it, my delicious conclusion, and I didn't have any doubts, no nagging feeling this wasn't the right thing to do. Because it was. In the bathroom I found what I needed. No towels or hydrogen peroxide this time, just five inches of shimmering, cold, hard metal. Sweet freedom was only centimeters away, but wait. One last thing to do. I walked back into my room and sat next to my dog. She gave me the worried look she always would. For a moment a sliver of a doubt crossed my mind, "who would take care of her?" Then I concluded my mother, though she had never lifted a finger for me, would take care of her since she liked my dog better than me. I patted her silken head one more time feeling the fine hairs pass under my palm. I looked down at my hand. I saw so many things. The freckle that helped me tell left from right, the wrinkles that I thought were special and spelled out the first letter of my name before I realized everyone had them, the soft palms that I'd always wished had been calluses, the thumb muscle I was so proud of, my demented finger nails that bent over because of my sickness. I stopped when I reached my writers bump, a anachronism in this modern society. I tried to remember the first time I'd ever set pencil to paper and wondered what I'd say if I told myself then that all the work we'd done earning that bump was for nothing. I closed my palm hard and felt the stinging pain of my fingernails digging into my palm. Not my favorite kind of pain but pain non the less. I looked up at the window that let light into my dark room. I saw dust channels drifting through the summer air and thought of all the other times I'd seen those same beams of sunlight. They'd always calm me. I leaned my head against the wall between two windows so I was surrounded by light. I felt as if I was already somewhere else, like I'd left and my body was just waiting to fall limp. I looked up at the wall which was covered in horse paraphernalia back from my days of over zealous equine enthusiasm. I reached for my escape rout and laid its coldness against my skin like I'd done so many times before. Except this time I lined it up with my blood flow. I closed my eyes against the light turning my world a light pink. Not my ideal last color. Just as I started to apply pressure I felt a smooth silken breeze of the kind only felt in the summer. It caught the short wisps of hair behind my ears that always curled rebelliously out of my ponytail and annoyed me and brushed them against my temples. It made me stop for a second as it comforted me then I thought, "soon I'll be somewhere where a breeze isn't my only comfort," and I pressed. I felt the thin layer that kept my ugly body together break. I pushed more and felt a sting. Harder and wetness began to poor. Harder and harder, mores and more wetness. No more pain. The pink began to spin out of focus and still I pressed and pulled. When I could no longer remember the color I was seeing I let my hand drop, or maybe it dropped by itself. My whole world was warm wetness now...how calming. I felt no desire to go back, not that I could and no sorrow. No one would remember me, I was fine with that, no one would miss me, I was fine with that too, my only regret..someone would have to waist more time on me cleaning the carpet.

As I left my ugly, imperfect shell behind I found myself feeling the weight of life lifted from me and all the suffering inflicted by my illness fall away. I could no longer judge or be judged based on my looks or how I acted or even who I was. I was me and at the same time nobody. The snake in my heart and finally broken me and freed itself but I didn't care it had used me because the happiness I was experiencing at that moment was worth it all.

My last sensation was a heavy, soft head laying itself on my lap and a quiet breath escaping from a wet nose.




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