Damaged, Sophie Bramberger [feel good books to read .txt] 📗

- when you can't go on -

I jump. Adrenalin flutes through my veins. I laugh. It’s not an afraid laugh, not a desperate one. It's full of liberation, relief.
The freezing wind closes my eyes. Slowly I stretch out my arms, but overthrow further in the nothingness, though.
How long am I going to fall? Three seconds, five? I don't know, but I don't care.
I've thought so frequently about this moment in the last time. I've longed it, prepared myself.
It hasn't been long that I made this decision. The decision to end everything. Everything. All the weird looks from my classmates. The bad grades. The following punishment from my parents. Their never given love to me. They don't even pretend to love me. They just thought about themselves, never about me.
In earlier times that thought, that knowledge would have hurt me, but I got used to it. As much as you can get used to the fact that your own parents repel you. They wouldn't miss me. But who would?
Friends? Which Friends?
Though there are always people around me, they can’t be called friends. They try to have as little contact with me as possible. They ignored me, looked through me. Trying to avoid my eyes, as if they were toxic.
Relatives? Same as with my parents. Just don’t do too much for the others, yourself is most important,
Acquaintances? Those don't even recognize me. Were just seeing the girl which I seemed to be. The dark dressed girl who never spoke to anyone. Who always ignored everyone. The girl who doesn't seem to belong here. And I dint.
Nobody saw my inside. Nobody saw the scared, tormented girl, who’s never experienced love or consolation, to whom the words hope and trust are alien. The girl, nobody cares about. That nobody’s going to miss.
That’s the reason for my decision. Though they've never done anything for me, I’d help them. Now they don't have to try to ignore me anymore, instead of looking in my face and seeing all the pain. And then avert the sight. They don’t have to bear me and my presence. I facilitate their life.
That’s why I went to the bridge, I looked down. In the deepness, just seeing blackness and nothingness. The darkness of the night.
And then I jumped.
It feels like that event was more intense than my whole life before. Like all my senses would be opened for everything now. I hear the wind, he rushes past my ears. I feel it, as he goes by, doesn't slow me down. I enjoy the feeling of the free fall, it’s the best feeling I've ever had.
Maybe I should be scared, but I’m not. Maybe I should be desperate, but it seemed like the wind blew everything away, all the negative feelings.
Maybe I should think about what’s going to happen next. If maybe anybody would care. If anybody would pretend to care. Maybe I should think about what’s going to happen to me. Is there a heaven? A hell? Am I considered a murderer, because I plunge myself in the death? I have no idea, but I don’t care. It’s too late, anyway.
I enjoy the here and now. And really, it’s a pleasure. A pleasure to know that I am really able to feel everything. A pleasure to know that everything will end in just a bit.
Just a few hear beats and the only thread which holds me in that world will be torn. Finally.
For the last time in my life I take a deep breath and welcome the death with a blissful smile on my face.

- now look, what you've done to me -

Love is red.
Wrong.
Anger is red.
Hate is red.
Blood is red.
I am red. I’m angry, full of hate. And everything around me is red. Everywhere around me is blood, my blood. On the floor, on the walls, the mirror, the sink, on me. Slowly it quills out of the tender cuts on my wrists, my soles, my side.
In my hand I hold the knife which bears the blame for all that blood. No. Wrong again. It has just helped. Has helped them, who are responsible for all that red. It’s not only one person, no. There are more of them. And everybody took his part in it. They wounded me. Let me perish, slowly and painfully.
I know that I don’t speak a lot. I never did. I prefer listening to the conversations of others. Prefer being alone, by myself. But they don’t seem to like it that way. They do as If it was something bad, when I open my mouth so rarely. They showed me my otherness. Wounded me.

“Look! There she is again, sitting alone in that corner!”
Their nervous glances wandered in my direction. Looked at me dismissively.
“I bet she thinks she’s better than us!”
A dry laugh. Quickly I lowered my head, let the hair be a curtain between me and them. Didn't want to see them, didn't want to be seen. Want to be alone.
“C'mon, let her be. When you live in your won world, you don’t have friends!”
I could literally see her, turning her eyes and starting guffawing.
As if she was something better. As if she earned the laugh, that followed. The laughing, that actually wasn't only for her, but also for me. Unfortunately in a positive way for her and a negative for me.
“Yeah, you’re right. She should be alone, nobody wants to do anything with her!”
I could hear them averting, walking off laughing.
And let me perish, slowly and painfully.

And that’s what you call class community. Whoever wants to be with those people – please. Really. In my class they’d soon need someone new who they can welcome everyday with their taunt; someone to sweeten his day with laughter and who lies every evening in his bed, crying due to their disregard and questioning the sense of the life.
Not even my parents help. What, you mean there are no parents who don’t care about their child? Wrong. There are parents like that. Mine, for instance.
I know that I’m not a child a pregnant mother would wish. I’m not the happy child, that you can proudly show your relatives. I’m not the good student, with whom you can brag in front of all the other parents. I’ll never be like that. But apparently that’s not what they want. If they could have chosen, I’d be somebody else. And because I’m, not like that person, they kind of ignore me. Openly they show me that they don’t want me. They repel me. Hurt me.

“Why can’t you just shut up?!”
What a nice answer for closing the door. Okay, it wasn't that silent, but I closed it. Normally they complained when I let it open. Now they don’t want me to close it. What do they want from me?
Slowly I shambled into the kitchen. Both were sitting at the table, not giving me a single glance. They spooned their soup as if nothing has happened. Of course they only made some for themselves, not for me. If I was lucky, there was some left in the kitchen. But I wasn't. Yawning emptiness.
With a sigh I wanted to start cooking something for myself, when I heard someone behind me. I whirled around, prepared for the worst. But nothing really happened. No word was said. Just his finger pointed straight to the door. Tormented I lowered my head. They weren't in a good mood, then. I had to go and find somewhere else to eat; wasn't allowed to use their groceries. As if I wasn't their child.
As I left the house in silence, I heard them sighing annoyed. They sat down again and continued eating their soup in their faked idyll.
And let me perish, slowly and painfully.

And that’s what you call good parents nowadays. Fine, whoever wants to have them, can take them. It won’t be long and they won’t have anyone who they can ignore. Though they probably won’t even realize it. That small, ugly person isn't going to be missed by them.
I know that I’m not that pretty. I've never been. But I didn't care. Till they told me, till they rubbed my nose in it. Hurt me.

“But you know that that shirt would look way better on me? I mean, with your figure it’s not that advantageous.”
Critically, she looked up and down on me. Her voice was loud, everybody within three meters looked at me. And that were a lot.
It was eventually Summer Sale in the most famous shop in town. And she really wanted me to go with her.
“But I don’t know if you’d find anything better, anyway. I don’t want to be rude or something, but if I were you, I’d take it gladly.”
She smiled at me gloatingly and I’d rather sink into the ground. Behind her, I saw a few other girls who whisper with held hand as if they were seven and not seventeen.
Also the boys had seen what was going on, pointed at me and didn't hide their mocking laughing. Quickly I lowered my now red head, while she stood next to me with her perfect body in great clothes, smilingly turning her eyes.
And let me perish, slowly and painfully.

And that’s what I called my best friend. Who doesn't already have something better, take her. She’ll be free soon.
A drama, that’s what all that was. I've never thought that I’d relate theater and death. But I did. I thought about my theater teacher, how he stood on the stage, yelling out “Cut!”, when the scene was finished.
And that Cut was it, I thought of when I attached the knife on my neck. When I pressed it on it smilingly and severed it.
When I ended my life. Cut!