She told him, “You’ve got to grow up.” He didn’t seem to take it too seriously; after all, it was only morning. But, nobody knew what actually went on, especially not a casual friend like her. He scoffed. All he could do to mask his feelings was to tell them, “Alright.” He logged off soon after to avoid more drama.
He lived his life in denial of the things she told him. All day during Philosophy, He could not get past His thoughts. What was the point of trying? No one would understand, anyway. All His life, He’d been walking on his own; so He thought. When you are lost in the dark, it’s harder to find the willpower to get yourself out than to actually do it. “You’ve got to wake up,” she told Him, “We’ve all been through this, you’ve got to pull yourself out of this—you’re not the center of the world.” He ignored it. After all, she didn’t know how hard it was. Why wouldn’t anyone pity Him? Why?! Couldn’t she see that He was in so much pain? Why wouldn’t anyone notice him? Why did the world hate him so much? Maybe, just maybe, she would get it if he died.
“You need therapy,” she said. Yeah, of course He did! It was so obvious! He munched on his lunch, frustrated. He found it weird how she was the only friend who told Him to snap out of it. He liked the pity, of course. But the things she told him were so infuriating! If she was going to pity Him, then why can’t she just do it better? Why did she have to tell him all these other things that didn’t apply to him? Maybe, just maybe, He thought, she would get it if he died.
Every day, He spent hours convincing himself that He was being wronged by the world. Couldn’t they even try to make him feel better about himself? All around Him, He could feel people jeering at Him. Was it imaginary? Maybe not. Maybe yes. Maybe, just maybe, He thought, I could die.
“He’s faking it.” He’s heard this too many times. He cried out. “She doesn’t understand anything!” He sighed as fat tears poured out of his self-pitying eyes. He looked out the window. All she knew was how to tell Him how to “stop being depressed.” Doesn’t she get it? He can’t! He’s suffering; can’t she see? He couldn’t help but think again that, maybe, He was going to be better off dead. As He imagined his graceful self-destruction, He bathed in the idea of her guilt-stricken face. “I hate you,” He choked out spitefully. Maybe, just maybe, He was going to commit suicide.
That evening, He found himself on top of a tall bridge He had set for his suicide. “I have to do this. Finally, people will pity me. This is what they deserve,” He took a final regretful breath full of the amazing things around Him. He would not let Himself see. He felt the cool evening air one last time, shed a few pathetic tears, and pushed himself over the ledge. As His final moments approached, He could not help but think. He smiled bitterly, “I brought this upon myself, didn’t I?” His body collided with the water.
Far away, in another space, She kneeled by the bridge he pushed himself from, thinking about what She had said to him prior to his sorrowful death. She had watched him jump, and had seen his pained face before he died. At times, She could not help her thoughts. “You’re a fool, friend.” She would’ve told him. A pitying tear rolled down Her cheek slowly. “What was the point of dying when you can’t even let yourself be happy in your last moments?”
He lived his life in denial of the things she told him. All day during Philosophy, He could not get past His thoughts. What was the point of trying? No one would understand, anyway. All His life, He’d been walking on his own; so He thought. When you are lost in the dark, it’s harder to find the willpower to get yourself out than to actually do it. “You’ve got to wake up,” she told Him, “We’ve all been through this, you’ve got to pull yourself out of this—you’re not the center of the world.” He ignored it. After all, she didn’t know how hard it was. Why wouldn’t anyone pity Him? Why?! Couldn’t she see that He was in so much pain? Why wouldn’t anyone notice him? Why did the world hate him so much? Maybe, just maybe, she would get it if he died.
“You need therapy,” she said. Yeah, of course He did! It was so obvious! He munched on his lunch, frustrated. He found it weird how she was the only friend who told Him to snap out of it. He liked the pity, of course. But the things she told him were so infuriating! If she was going to pity Him, then why can’t she just do it better? Why did she have to tell him all these other things that didn’t apply to him? Maybe, just maybe, He thought, she would get it if he died.
Every day, He spent hours convincing himself that He was being wronged by the world. Couldn’t they even try to make him feel better about himself? All around Him, He could feel people jeering at Him. Was it imaginary? Maybe not. Maybe yes. Maybe, just maybe, He thought, I could die.
“He’s faking it.” He’s heard this too many times. He cried out. “She doesn’t understand anything!” He sighed as fat tears poured out of his self-pitying eyes. He looked out the window. All she knew was how to tell Him how to “stop being depressed.” Doesn’t she get it? He can’t! He’s suffering; can’t she see? He couldn’t help but think again that, maybe, He was going to be better off dead. As He imagined his graceful self-destruction, He bathed in the idea of her guilt-stricken face. “I hate you,” He choked out spitefully. Maybe, just maybe, He was going to commit suicide.
That evening, He found himself on top of a tall bridge He had set for his suicide. “I have to do this. Finally, people will pity me. This is what they deserve,” He took a final regretful breath full of the amazing things around Him. He would not let Himself see. He felt the cool evening air one last time, shed a few pathetic tears, and pushed himself over the ledge. As His final moments approached, He could not help but think. He smiled bitterly, “I brought this upon myself, didn’t I?” His body collided with the water.
Far away, in another space, She kneeled by the bridge he pushed himself from, thinking about what She had said to him prior to his sorrowful death. She had watched him jump, and had seen his pained face before he died. At times, She could not help her thoughts. “You’re a fool, friend.” She would’ve told him. A pitying tear rolled down Her cheek slowly. “What was the point of dying when you can’t even let yourself be happy in your last moments?”