Who would care if I died?
Sometimes I go back in time to that night
The city lights and cathedral visible in the darkness. The warm air, and shallow breeze.
It was quiet, and somehow peaceful despite all the shit in my head making me wish I didn’t exist.
I sat at the edge, wondering. How long would it take? Throwing a rock from the top and watching it hit the ground. One. Two. Three.
Three seconds is all it would take. Three seconds and I wouldn’t have to worry. Three seconds and there wouldn’t be anymore pain.
And yet the seconds kept going by as I cried and fumbled with my phone. Half of me desperately wanted someone there for me, and the other half just wanted me to be over with it.
It hurts, you know? I hate this feeling of helplessness, hate, and worthlessness. What was the good in me being there? Nothing, most likely.
I got a text a few minutes later. “Hey girl! Are you ok?? Youve been on the roof for sometime!”
All I managed to reply with through blurred vision was “No.”
She came up a few minutes later. A bottle in hand and a pack of cigarettes. I never liked cigarettes but I wanted one this time. She tried to deter my thoughts. It had been the first person to not scream and make a whole show out of my depression. She told me she liked the view, and that she was there for me, as she lit my cig.
Three seconds is all it wouldve taken as I continued to throw rocks, mumbling the number.
I remember being on the phone and having him there reassuring me that Id be missed. He knew me better than anyone in this world and I loved him for that. I loved that he cared and stayed calm. I really did want to jump that night...
I didn’t though. We walked back down the stairs away from the vacant space and DC view, heading back to our rooms.
It didn’t take much longer before the police showed up. I remember my anxiety, a panic attack indefinitely. Tears running down my face and my hands trembling. I could hardly collect my breath as one after another cop came to the room. I could hear a commotion from the halls. Everyone was out of their rooms wondering what happened.
The cops asked me questions and I begged them to make the halls empty if they were going to take me. They managed it after a few minutes before they took me down stairs, and that’s the moment I remember most vividly.
It was only a second, but a second that felt like forever, the faces of all my friends sitting worriedly in the lobby looking at me as two cops guided me outside. I looked down, ashamed to have them watch me.
“I’m so sorry!” She cried, grabbing my arm and pushing past the police. “I know you hate me but you’re so loved! I just want you safe!” I heard her say. The same friend who had been on that roof with me.
It felt like a movie, almost something that I can’t completely remember being in, and yet, here I am writing all of this.
I hate the depression that eats me up but know I can’t go back to those three seconds. I just have to push forward for more.
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