When I was little I used to fantasize about living inside the beautiful little painted houses on cheap drugstore cards. I would imagine the smells of the freshly cut grass and the chirping birds singing by the bird bath. How the chimney would curl with wisps of the family fire as a home cooked meal was being prepared. Oddly enough I never really pictured my family, but merely the idea of one. It was my little escape from the world.

As I got older and had more things put on my shoulders I began to ignore the little houses, and instead fantasized about being older. Having a boyfriend, going on trips with friends, driving, partying. It all sounded so exciting and unlike the stupid little cards it was real. Or so I thought.

By 15 I had faced the cruel reality of what I had once imagined so purely. Nothing seemed enticing or beautiful anymore. I was alone, and I had seeped too deeply into a sadness that there was no climbing out. And no one noticed.

At 18 I began to fatasize about dying. The thought of being released from life would let me breathe easier, like some awful creature had been sitting on my chest and had finally moved, but it always came back. I engrossed myself in daydreams in which I died different ways. How would my blood look flowing out of my wrists like lovely crimson roots, or my brains splattered like those paintings of the universe you see in science class. I imagined how everyone would react when they found me or saw my picture on the news. I would think about all the posters and campaigns for getting help that would spread like wildfires around my town, and all the people that wouldn’t give me the time of day crawling out of the woodworks to say how distraught they were. When you want to die they tell you to think of the future, the hope for a family, a beautiful house, pets, adventures, etc. It’s all bullshit though, isn’t it? I could never see a future for myself, and when I tried it was as if a thick veil of fog covered a blank void. There was nothing for me. Nothing to look forward to and no one to care if my seat was empty, my bed, if my car wasn’t parked in the lot anymore, if I was suddenly erased.


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