When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in my room, but his.
It was June 21, 2023..
I saw a stranger laying in my own bed, but it was no stranger. It was me. A 5’8, buzzed cut hair, slightly paler me with eyebags that could be easily mistaken for black holes. He was motionless on my bed, sleeping. Although he was physically me, I knew something was off.
I looked around, trying to find an answer for a question that I already knew the answer to.
Empty water bottles, plastic cups, and paper plates littered the floor, my only decorations in my room. On my desk, laid an outcast in my dirty room.
“Tylenol”, a small red paper package yelled at my eyes,
“LOOK AWAY!”
It remained unopened.
Next to it was cheap sleeping pills from Dollar Tree that he used up within a week. I looked over at him, walking towards my bed. His breathing was slow and steady.
He weakly wielded a pencil in his hand, as a paper laid still next to him
That same damn note that haunts me to this day.
I ask myself everyday,
Did I ever leave that damn room?
The same room where I slept in
Hid in
Sneaked out
And even cried in.
Every night I died in that room, and was reborn in the morning.
Is my life still just that same still small damn room, with the door locked from the other side?
What is holding me back from achieving what I want?
What is holding me back from being satisfied with my work?
Where is the key?
WHY DID I THROW AWAY MY OWN KEY TO MY OWN PRISON?
GET ME OUT OF HERE!
As I pick up the note, I hear a knocking on my door. I get shifted to the next day.
June..22..2023.. His birthday.
He lay in his bed for a couple of hours, then he walked to his desk slowly, as if he were controlled by a voodoo doll.
He grabbed the Tylenol pills.
The number 24 still haunts him.
He grabbed the empty Dollar Tree sleeping pill bottle, filling it with the Tylenol pills,
And placing it next to another set of cheap sleeping pills in a bottle.
They looked identical.
He left his room to shower.
He didn’t play music like how he would’ve. He hasn’t for the past few months.
The sound of water was audible outside of the bathroom. I waited for him to get out.
He picked out what he thought was a good outfit. Blue collar up with black slacks. I saw him leave his room, walking towards the living room. He just stared. Stared at a wall, not blinking. He used to do this all the time.
He pulled out the paper from yesterday, reading it inside of his head, over and over, hands shaking.
A glass tear formed in the corner of his eye, before shattering into millions of pieces.
He knew today was the day.
The day he planned for all along.
The day he feared, but welcomed.
The day..where he would..
He hid the note within his pocket, wiping the tears as his mother walked in. His mother smiled, hugging him tightly. She said happy birthday to him in spanish. He tightly hugged her back, knowing he wouldn’t hear the sound of his mother's voice tomorrow, the same voice that crooned him to rest when he would have sleeping issues when he was younger.
His heart was telling something different that his brain disagreed with.
He didn’t want to see his mother cry.
He didn’t want to leave.
He didn’t want any of this.
His heart was screaming for help…
But his brain silenced it.
His friends didn’t come over…maybe because they never really existed.
At least he didn’t have to force final memories with them.
The night crept up, and most of the party left.
Tonight was the night.
He wandered deep into the night, where the darkness and his fears would have walked behind him.
But tonight, tonight was different.
The night held its breath.
There was no sound.
Only him and his thoughts. I saw him walking back to his house.
I followed behind him.
He was.. nervous.
Confused.
Ashamed.
Guilty.
He walked inside of his house, seeing his parents on the couch.
“Buenas noches, mamá y papá . Gracias por hoy, los quiero mucho”, before he disappeared into his room.
He didn’t bother turning the lights on, he was too ashamed to see what he was about to do.
He grabbed the bottle of pills, swallowing them with the help of a water bottle on the floor.
He hugged his pillow tightly, note in hand.
He played his old favorite song, for once more.
He rested with a smile on his face, with another glass tear forming, but not breaking.
He was confused when he woke up.
Note in hand, pillow in arms.
He got up quickly, running to his parents room.
His mother and father lay quietly.
He felt light headed, but the sickness he couldn’t pin point to it.
Was it the pills or was it the guilt that he tried to end his own life, and his research was wrong, just like everything else he has done in the past?
He walked back to his room, looking at his desk.
He looked at the pill bottles, the sun illuminating his room.
He accidentally took melatonin instead of Tylenol.
He looked at the note, so fragile, and torn, it barely held its shape.
For the first time in months…he didn’t look away from his mistake.
He sat on the floor, both of his hands covering his face as his own emotions took his breath.
He let go of God on the twenty second, but God came back on the twenty third.
I walked towards him slowly.
I knew he needed someone to be there for him.
He knew.
I knew.
But nobody did.
I now hold that same note in my hands,
But I am not afraid to keep on living.
I am no longer afraid to walk this world alone.
I know I am forgiven for every mistake I've made.
I tucked the note away,
And hid it under my books of old topics HE used to be obsessed with.
This time, he’ll keep the key to his own prison.
