He yells at me, I yell back virtually through the world where one can talk at two am without being in the same room. Tears are streaming down my face, as he scares me once more. Suicide? When did I grow up into a world where such a terrible thing exists? When did those playground games turn into ones of life vs. death? Why would you even joke about that?
Except that you aren’t joking. You honestly don’t think life is worth living, and that’s what scares me.
What kind of world is this when a 14 year old calmly states that? What kind of world is it when I’m the only one who notices, the only one he’s said something to about it, when he refuses to even talk to me?
As I freak out on him, I ask “What would happen if I reached over to those pills I have right next to me and swallowed them all? How the hell would you feel?”
“Can I be honest?”
“Right now, I wouldn’t care”
Do you know how it feels to be told that someone doesn’t care if you’re alive or dead? Do you understand the pain that shoots through you? And now I’m just sitting here, looking at those pills on my desk, thinking how could anyone ever take them in an attempt to take their own life? Life is too sweet to end with one sour swallow. There are lows, rock bottom lows, where you sit alone in your room, and then there are the sweet highs of a long, wanted kiss. He hasn’t experienced that. He doesn’t know of the sweetness that will soon envelope his existence.
I don’t love him, I can’t use that as a ploy for him to stay on this earth, but I can’t help but say that I should be able to help.