A/N: I haven't posted in a while. Sorry! But this song is based off of He is We's "Breathe." It's really a gorgeous song and you should check it out! Pleeeease, please review! Reviews are what make the world go round. Or at least, my world.
Warning: May be triggering. Mentions of suicide, self harm, eating disorders and abuse.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the shoes I'm wearing.
I'm not exactly who I say I am or pretend to be. My friends think they know me but they don't. They don't know the first thing about me. Above all, they think they're my friends but I don't have any friends. I don't want any friends. I don't need any friends. I don't deserve any.
They think I'm cold, hard and mean. They may be right with that one though. But not for the reasons they think. Or what I hope they think. They think they can get through to me or brush off my harsh words. They think I don't really mean them. They think they see me. They'll never see me. They'll never know me. I won't let them.
I don't exactly like hurting them. Okay, maybe I do sometimes but, I wasn't always this way. It's something that I thought, know, I have to do so that no one will get too close to me. I've become numb to the pain in their eyes. The words shoot out of my mouth on their own accord. I didn't plan this to happen but I guess it's better this way. Being that cold, hard person they think I am. That I am now.
They're going to go away eventually. When they find out who I really am, they'll just run. Everyone has always run, except for Beck. Oh, sweet Beck. So naive but brilliant. I still haven't the slightest clue how he managed to break through my barrier as much as he has. But he's a whole other story.
The biggest thing they have mistaken is they think I'm okay. They think I'm happy. Maybe a little twisted but happy none the less. The twisted part is correct but that's all.
They don't know my mind keeps me up late at night. They don't know that I hate every single thing about myself. They don't know that inside I am dead.
They don't know every morning I have to swallow pills to become the "stable, sane" person they see. They don't know the real reason I always have to use the bathroom after lunch is to barf it back up. They don't know I battle the blade every night and underneath my dark sweaters and skinny jeans, my flesh is torn, open, sore, and scarred.
A few weeks back, they thought I'd had the flu. When in reality? I was locked up in a psychward. I'm complete failure. I can't act. I can't sing. I can't love. I can't even kill myself properly.
This was it. The end. I can't do this anymore. I'm a complete and utter waste of space. I will never amount to anything. There will always be someone better than me. All I do is hurt everyone I love. I can't live with this pain anymore. It's eating me from the inside out. I'm fading into the deep black. Everything feels icy and not real. Every breath I take hurts worse than the last.
I turn on a familiar song, "Breathe Me" by He Is We and start to sing softly as I finally let the tears escape my eyes, surely smearing my black eye make-up.
"You know, I fake it oh so well, that God himself can't tell," I whisper-sing, groping under my bed until my fingers touch cool metal. I look to the gun in my hand and feel a wave of power mixed with fear so strong that I have to sit down. This is the moment.
"All I really need is to breathe," I finish, raising the gun to my chest, take in a huge gulp of air and pull the trigger.
"Oh, Jade. Look at what a mess you've made." I remember her saying and seeing the disappointed look on her face before I faded completely into the black.
I missed my heart. I probably would've bled out if my mom hadn't decided to come home early from work. But she did, and so I failed.
I won't make that mistake again.
I read once that to have a successful suicide you need to have a clear head, which at the time seems ridiculous because your head is scattered and you're broken.
My mind has never been clearer as a stare into the dark, murky water bellow me. In the water, I see my friend's faces. My mom's disappointed look. My dad's smirk at seeing me clutch my stinging face. Beck's smile full of false love. His is the last I see as I take that final step over the edge. The moments in air are the best. I finally feel free.
"Let me breathe."