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The Voice
By James Paradie
I just
couldn’t take it anymore. The pain. The mental agony. I wanted out and I wanted
it now. For the past five years, I’ve seen doctors, who write me prescriptions
to make the pain go away; I’ve been to shrinks, who seem to know all the right
answers, but no good solutions; and friends? Don’t get me started on friends.
They only need me when they want to grieve about their so called screwed up
lives. But when it comes to my time? Where are they? Are they there for me? No.
There too busy, or they got better things to do, or they can’t be on the phone
long enough to talk me out of blowing my brains out. Do you know what that is
like? For people who are supposed to care about you, give up on you, and leave
you to rot inside your own brain which acts like a cell from hell itself.
And the
craziest thing is, is that I’ve been depressed without knowing why. That’s the
scariest type of depression, if you ask me. Just … everything set’s you off. It
makes you explode on the inside. For this, I’ve never known true love. Of
course I’ve made love to a woman. But can love be made when the love is only
one sided? I loved her, but she didn’t love me. She saw money that I did not
have and when she saw that I didn’t have the means for her, she tried to get
away. But I kept pulling back, crying in her arms, telling her that I would
make it better. She pitied me and kept taking me back. She kept on taking me
back, after each argument; until finally, I didn’t hear from her for weeks. I
see her leaving the supermarket with a new man. Better looking and looked
wealthier, and she acted like she didn’t even know me. How love can be blind
and can turn a man loveless. But that’s the least of my problems.
My main
problem is, is that I have a gun to my head. I want to pull the trigger, but I
keep waiting. I keep waiting for that voice I used to hear before I would kill
myself. That voice that used to assure me that everything is going to be okay.
That it’s just a temporary bump in the road. That life will get better; I just
need to give it a chance to blossom. But the voice isn’t coming. It’s not even
a whimper of don’t. It’s the angry voice inside of me that keeps on telling me
to pull the trigger. That no one loves me. That I’m just a shadow of a man. A
lost man, with a lost hope of finding solitude in a cold world that is full of
fear and greed. A world that doesn’t listen to pleads and that laughs at you.
The world is laughing at me!
It’s mocking me and making me feel like
shit. It wants me to die. It wants me to pull the trigger and put an end to it
all. But what about your family? Wouldn’t it be selfish to kill myself? What
have they done to help me?! The same old rhetoric of, “Just swallow the pain
and it will eventually go away.” I tried to swallow, but I hate the taste of
it! It tastes like bile and filth.
The
angry voice is getting louder; it’s telling me to just do it. I will feel
better. But what if there is no feeling better? What if there is nothing after
this? What kind of solace is that? The voice tells me that there will be
solace, even if it is just a black void. That I will feel happy.
Happy.
It’s
just a word now. An emotion my hypothalamus gland ran dry of ages ago. I want
to feel happy again. I want to feel like nothing can affect me ever again. I
cock the trigger back and by now I’d be crying. But there are no tears…
Just a
smile on my face.
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