Regret: The Sole Occupant of a Weary Body

After I had done it, I woke up with a lot of regret. My throat was dry and I was uncertain of how much time had passed since I lost consciousness. I wasn’t sure how long it took for them to revive me. I closed my eyes and stared into the back of my eyelids; they were covered with the image of what I had done. It filled me with guilt, not for my actions, but for the fact that they were ineffective. I felt more embarrassed than anything. When I woke up in the hospital room, I saw my parents whispering to the doctor outside. I attempted to move my hands but they were in restraints, tied to the bed. The reason I did what I did was because I knew I wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences. But now, I was faced with them. Because when you attempt to kill yourself by downing a bottle of pills, you usually don’t have to deal with the aftermath

It’s a strange word, “attempt.” It’s a word that encompasses both hope and despair. In most cases, including mine, it means that you tried to do something but failed. I had failed to do the easiest thing in the world. The only thing that is promised to all people when they are born. I had failed to die. After my parents saw that I was awake, they rushed in to greet me. “Raven, we’re so glad you’re awake.” Hearing my name out loud sent shivers down my spine every time someone said it, not because I didn’t like the name, but because of the person it was tied to. I then had to face all the questions of why I did it. It was simple, really. I was just tired of trying to live inside my own mind and the only escape I could see was death. I hesitated to tell my parents the truth, knowing it would hurt them more. So, I fell back on a convenient response, telling them I didn't know why. I hoped that they would accept that and that it would absolve them of their guilt. I know I said I didn’t regret what I had done, but the truth was, I did have regret. I had hurt my best friend, Will. Someone, the only one, who had stuck with me my entire life. I knew I shouldn’t have done it; he was the main reason I held it off for so long. I couldn’t leave him alone like that, it was too selfish, but I also couldn’t do it anymore. There wasn’t a switch that flipped or a final factor that made me do it, tt’s just that the cons finally outweighed the pros.

Will had always been there for me. We met in elementary school when I was assigned to show him around the campus, they thought he was quiet so they got the other quiet kid to get to know him. I honestly didn’t understand that logic, but it seemed to work because we were inseparable ever since. It didn’t take long for us to click. We would talk about everything, and soon, our long talks became week-long stays at his house. One time, we found this bridge that stood high over a body of water, and we spent a lot of time there. It was a quiet place where we knew we could get away from the world. He was my everything, my need in life. He became a source of comfort for me, filling a void I didn’t even know existed. He made me happy. Really truly happy. As we grew older, our friendship only grew stronger. No matter what was happening in our lives, we always had each other to fall back on. He was more than a friend, he was my brother and my source of unconditional love. 

As I walked back into my high school I felt the familiar feeling of instant panic kickstart my heart. I wasn’t sure how people would react to me being back, but I was mostly scared about seeing Will again. We didn’t have any classes together so during lunch I went to where we usually sit, I didn’t know if he would be there or not. As I approached the tree I saw him with his back turned. As I neared, he turned around, and for a moment, our eyes locked. It was like time had stood still, and the only thing that mattered was the connection between us. He didn’t hate me. He didn’t seem mad at all. Instead, he stepped forward and took my face in his hands, looking at me with such tenderness, the eyes of the only friend I’ve ever known. He pulled me into a tight embrace. He whispered in my ear, “I forgive you,” over and over again. The bitter truth was that I was the one who needed to hear him forgive me. Forgiveness is often granted in the heat of anger, but I could sense that he wasn’t upset with me. Instead, he understood that I yearned for his forgiveness.

…

Will and I spent a lot of time together, we would sit on the bridge and smoke, trying to numb our pain and escape reality. Though, the high never lasted long enough to fully escape the pain I felt. I felt like it was a constant battle between wanting to live in the present and not wanting to live to see my future. We talked about everything and anything while we were up there, the weight of the world didn't seem to matter as much when we were together. Sometimes, we would just sit in silence, enjoying each other's company. I started being able to push away the thoughts for a bit and focus on actually living. It had been 5 months since the attempt on my life. I started to care about things again, mainly school. I could never quite shake the fear of not being good enough, I was never the greatest student and my parents were really strict about my grades. I knew that I had to push myself and I did. I would go to class and try to focus on what the teacher was saying but my mind would always wander off. I would daydream about the future, wondering if I would ever be able to escape my life. The fear of not being good enough was always there, lurking in the back of my mind. 

My parents always had a lot of love for me. I just always thought it was too much. I was their miracle baby. They had tried for two years to get pregnant and, with a miracle, they got pregnant with me. At least it’s good to know I was wanted. The second I was born their lives shifted from themselves to me, it was all about me all the time. Which sounds like a good thing in theory, but it's not. I had to be perfect in every sense of the word. They meant well and they loved me I just didn’t need or want that type of love. I always loved them, unconditionally, I just never really liked them.

I decided to try and change that mindset. I didn’t think I would ever really love my parents out of my own heart, I just knew that it would be best to at least try. So instead of spending every second with Will, I dedicated every Friday after school to being with them. I also forced myself to have a talk with them about letting the reins loose a bit. They actually listened, which was a nice change. They agreed that I would need to text them where I was going when I would be home, and if I had tests, quizzes, or papers coming up. Another part of the deal was that I would tell them everything of my own volition, they weren’t allowed to ask me when I had things due. It was a test of our trust in each other and I felt like it really worked. I also started to actually talk to them. If they asked about my day I would try to tell them and when they told me about their lives I would really listen. It didn’t just make us closer it made them actually start to understand me. Slowly, the relationship between my parents and me started to improve. I was pleasantly surprised by how much they actually cared about me, and I found myself looking forward to spending time with them.

I never hated school. I just didn’t like it either. Hours and hours of people I don’t know, teachers I didn’t like, and classes I wasn’t interested in. It’s not like I didn’t try either. I really tried to like it when I was younger it just didn’t work. I was never smart enough to like school. Even people who suck at school have at least one thing they love to do which makes it all worth it for them. I didn’t even have that. I genuinely sucked at everything. And that’s not me trying to get pity or people to tell me that it’s not true. I was just naturally good at nothing. 

…

Things were better for a while. But feeling better never lasts forever. Walking into class one day I saw the words pop quiz written on the board. I felt my throat close and my eyes fill with tears. The familiar feeling of eyes on me as the heat started to rise to my face. I just needed to breathe. Just breathe. Just breathe. Just breathe. Suddenly my eyes forgot how to hold back tears and my lungs forgot how to work. I went to grab my phone and my hands forgot how to stay still. You know the feeling when you’re shaking so much in your body that you can’t physically function? That’s what I was feeling. I was grabbing the wall for support and somehow found the strength to carry my, what felt like, lifeless body out of the classroom. I sat on the floor for the entire period and then got picked up from school. I felt insane, completely and utterly insane. I saw a pop quiz and it made me have a panic attack? How much more fucking dumb could I look?

Then things really took a turn for the worse. SAT/ACT season was starting which meant I actually had to start thinking about my future. My parents were way more stressed than I was which, in turn, stressed me out. If my parents weren’t texting me about starting to study, then they were talking to me in person about it

“Which test are you taking, SAT or ACT?..We should start you with a tutor and help you decide…The actual test dates are coming up so you should definitely start to study,”

I tried my hardest. I really did. I wanted to do well, I wanted to be proud of something I did for once. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do well. My best just wasn’t good enough. I spent hours every night drilling any ACT book I could get my hands on, making flashcards, and looking up quizlets. No matter how many all-nighters I pulled, or times I blew off Will, I still sucked. It wasn’t even just the test that was stressing me out. It was my future. Taking the ACT meant going to college, which meant four more years of school, then a job, then a life outside of that. A life I’ve never wanted, a life I never thought I would live to see.  

I decided to run away. I couldn’t take thinking about my future, I couldn’t take not being able to see Will when I wanted, and I couldn’t take failing school anymore. I couldn’t take not being enough. So I left; I stole the car and drove out of town for a few days. I know I should’ve said something but I couldn’t face the truth. I didn’t text anyone about anything but I did keep my phone with me, just in case. I guess that’s how they knew where I was. I drove for miles and miles with nothing to think about but what I had done. For the first while, I let the feeling of freedom take over me, but it wasn’t long until my mind began to race with the thought of what I had done. I wondered if I had made a mistake; if I should turn around and go back home. Guilt washed over me as I realized the impact of my impulsiveness.

…

It couldn’t go more than two days, so I decided to go home. The reason I ran away was because I couldn’t stand my life, but I went home because having to stand the guilt became worse than my life. I felt it creeping up on me, slowly but surely. It started with a twinge in my stomach, a flutter in my chest. I knew what was coming next. The feeling of pounds and pounds being added to my heart yet it still finding a way to float up to my throat. The familiar signs of guilt. Like a cloud that descended upon me, obscuring everything else around me. I couldn’t escape it. The worst part of the guilt was thinking about Will. God, what had I done? I told myself I would never put him through something like that again. And I did. Of course I did. I needed to go home, I needed to apologize. I wasn’t sure if I could actually face him after this but I knew I should at least try. 

The drive back was the hardest part. I told myself that I could keep my phone off until I got back, that’s the only thing that stopped me from turning around and never going back home. The silence in the car was deafening, broken only by the sound of my own thoughts. As I drove back, the memories of my life flooded my head. I couldn't help but replay everything that had happened over and over again, wondering what I could have done differently in my life to avoid the pain. I tried to distract myself by looking at the scenery outside. The only thing that seemed to help distract me was knowing that Will would be there when I got back. As I approached my house, a sense of dread washed over me. I knew that when I walked into my house my parents would yell at me, and Wiil would be sitting on my couch, not yelling, but waiting there to tell me that he loved me. 

…

In the end, I had to do it. Nothing was holding me back. It was easy, a little too easy, I just told my parents that I needed to go to my room. They knew not to push me, they knew I was too fragile at the time. So I used that to my advantage. I went upstairs and grabbed a cinder block and rope I had from a project Will and I did a few summers back. I threw the supplies in a bag and snuck out the window. I walked and walked and walked. I found myself at the bridge. The bridge that belonged to every important thing that’s happened to me and Will. It felt like the perfect place, a place where I could be with him in my final moments, because he couldn’t share his with me. I took that away from him.

I don’t need to explain the specifics of what came next. I’m sure you can guess what the cinder block and rope were used for while finding my way to a bridge. I’m sure my parents will find this first since I slipped this note into my backpack. I want them to know that I’m sorry, not for what I did, but for what they now have to deal with. I never wanted them to feel this way, and I know they thought I was getting better. I just got better at hiding my feelings I guess. I also need to make sure they know it’s not their fault. For the most part, it’s mine. When I ran away, I should’ve known Will would come to look for me. I should’ve known that the emotions would have him at a high. I should’ve turned on my phone. I should’ve returned one of his calls. I should’ve told him I was coming home. Then maybe he wouldn’t have been so worried about me. Then maybe he wouldn’t have thought to come look for me. Then maybe he wouldn’t have gotten in his car to do so. And maybe the car that he got into would be okay right now and not filled with blood and the body of the only friend I’ve ever known. Then maybe he would still be alive.

Love,

Raven Broad