I stared numbly at nothing, the world becoming fogged.
Yet I was aware of the noises- panicked banging(my Dad always tried to solve things with brute force), crying(no doubt my little sister Ann), and a frenzied phone call,
no doubt for a locksmith or ambulance(my mom, the worrier). I had a few rules for this occasion.
>1. Don’t open the door, no matter what.
In compliance to this, I sat like a limp little thing on the cold bathroom tile. I was faintly aware of a few white and orange specks on the beige- pills I’d missed.
But the damage had been done, so I didn’t feel it necessary to scoop those up and shovel them into my mouth, adding to the self-destructive stew I’d whipped up.
I’d fixed my blurry gaze at one funny-looking pill in particular, when my Dad snapped me out of my haze, begging for me to stop it. He probably thought I was cutting or something.
Too painful to cut, though.
>2\. Don’t say anything. Don’t try to reassure them. Just don’t.
Some cliches will mislead you into thinking that we suicidals think, “How did it all come to this?” That’s wrong. We don’t dwell on the past; that’s painful and pointless.
Instead, we look to our paradoxically distant and nonexistent futures. After all, after death, it’s lights out… which reminds me: Ann *hates* the dark.
Would Mom comfort her during the night in my stead? Would Dad?
Ann was still crying. She asked Mom, “Is Stacey going to die?” The way her voice broke shattered me. What was I thinking? Despite everything, Ann still needed me. *She* needed me.
Even if Ann was one person… But then there was Mom and Dad. Why hadn’t I ever spoke to them? I needed to reach them, finally meet them halfway, after feeling so distant from them for so long.
I needed to reach them…
I attempted to stand, but the pills reduced my legs to fine jelly. I tried pulling myself along by my arms, but they were similarly affected. But I needed to try. Now was the time to try.
Why did the bathroom door seem so far away? So close, yet so far… I strained and pulled against my oncoming death.
I dragged myself along. The pills continued to pull me apart. Just beyond the wooden door, Ann cried. Just beyond the wooden door was my family. I needed them, and they needed me.
I cursed myself for not realizing that earlier. I dragged myself along. My brain continued its one-way descent. I reached out a weakened arm for the bathroom lock.
My hand fell short, and kissed the tile. In my head, I screamed. Outside the door, Ann cried.
>3\. Don’t bother saying goodbye.