I'm the worst type of suicidal person there is, I'm the type that fears death.
Oh but I crave it,
Like a drug,
I want its sweet embrace to wash over me and fill me like a flood.
But there's always that fear, the fear of what happens after death, that and that alone has been the only thing that's stopped me.
If you've grown up with a Christian background, or any religion I might say, you'll understand what I mean.
Suicide is a sin, god chooses when and where you're going to die, and for your impertinence you go to hell.
While the thought of being on this world any longer makes me want to gauge my eyes out till they bleed, I'm not prepared for the after life.
Often I think about death and what happens afterwards. And the thoughts, they blossom in my head like flowers grown in the wild before a hand grabs hold of my heart and squeezes it before plucking it out of the ground.
It's so hard for me to breathe, never mind think sometimes, I just have to curl up in bed and cry.
I try to dream of things that make me happy, the things that don't make me want to die.
When I was younger I used to cut myself.
I guess I hoped that one-day I may actually end up doing something stupid and that would be it, that the choice of my mortality would be out of God's hands and into mine.
But I failed to answer the question, failed to take control of my own life, failed to let myself die.
It's weird because I'm also afraid of pain, but in a way it's also my best friend. It helped dull the other things in my life that made me unhappy; it filled me with a sense of control.
It was my way of saying 'fuck you' to the world.
I was a silly little girl back then, always thinking of ways to top myself. Now I'm a sophisticated woman. Sophisticated in the sense that I know which ways to try die, which ways to succeed.
Pills are a no-no, its too hit and miss, take too much you might over overdose and your body just shuts down, take too little and you'll be out for a while, even if you get the right dosage you can still survive cause they'll pump your stomach, out goes the toxic waste, out goes your saviour.
[Laughter]
Fear.
It the thing that drives me, the thing that lies to me, it holds me, it consoles me, it takes me, and makes me…me.
It's the thing that holds me back from going forward, and will eventually destroy me.
The problem with falling is that there's always that chance that you might be caught.
It was pitch black when I woke, staring out into the darkness I watched as the stars glittered in the sky. I felt heavy, lost in the sea of blackness, surround by my pain, my misery. I wish I could breath.
Walking always helps to clear my mind, sometimes reading, but now is not the moment for books, I need to wander around aimlessly and forget myself for the moment.
I don't know how I ended up in the Astronomy tower, or how a teacher or a Prefect didn't catch me. I just remember looking down and seeing my feet on the edge.
If your mentally broken like me, this is the opportunity, one that I sure can't pass up and as I take my last step forward I can already feel it's the wrong one.
I don't want to die.
The wind whistles in my ear as I go down, screaming almost it's that loud. Why oh why did I do this? I'm not ready to die. And as the pieces of my mind start to piece them selves together, I hit the ground with a splat.
Have you ever wondered what death is like?
It's empty.
And cold.
You're alone surrounded by nothing, just the black and you for all eternity.
You relive your worst moments there, and sometimes your best. It goes on forever until it's all you know. I relive losing my parents; relieve the days of Voldermort, the days of being hurt, the day the word mudblood was engraved into my back; Greyback on top of me ripping at my clothes, his rotten breath overpowering my senses as he violated me. That memory hurts the most. I told no one about what happened. I'm supposed to just forget it, ignore it and wait for the pain to go away, that's what they keep telling me. Fuck you. I may smile and pretend to the masses there's nothing wrong but in my heart, I'm dead inside.
Officially I was dead for 5 minutes.
I was a complete mess when they found me, broken bones, cracked skull, internal bleeding.
It's a miracle that I survived.
I've been here for three days now, most of the time I've spent sleeping. When I'm awake they question, so I sleep to keep them at bay.
I tell them I don't know happened, that I woke in the middle of falling. I know they don't believe me but there's nothing they can do to find out the truth unless they use legilimency on me and that's not going to happen.
I've tried so hard to be a better person. Tried to be like Lavender or Parvarti. I even tried to be like Ginny, Fiery. Bold. Beautiful.
I dream of falling and flying. The wind wrapping around me like a blanket and carrying me up in it's current. I feel safe. I feel whole.
"Miss Granger you can leave now. Everything's all healed up, I'm giving you a clean bill of health."
Am I really better now? Is that it? The cuts and the bruises are gone and while I no longer feel the pressure weighing down my heart and soul I'm not convinced it's gone.
The pressures come back and I think that it's gotten worst. Every second of everyday it drags at me, weighs me down. I'm not sure how much longer I can take it, but I can't go back to the dark, back to being alone. I spend most of my time studying, trying to distract myself from the climax that I know is inevitable. I'm going to break and this time I think it's for good.
It's dark outside, probably early morning, and I'm gasping for air as I feel hands grabbing at me, restraining me. He's here, in my head, in front of me smiling at me, smirking at me as he advances towards me wand drawn.
"Please! Someone help me! Please!" My cries echo around me, as I search desperately for my wand. It should be on me, I never would leave it out of reach. But there's nothing on my, I have no weapon to defend myself, and a small part of me doesn't even want to.
A flash of gree-
"Sir I don't know what happened she was thrashing on the bed, we tried to hold her, we thought she was having a fit or something"
Dumbledore stared down at Hermione's limp body scrutinizingly. He looked back to Lavender perplexed. "Go get Professor McGonagall."
Again I'm surrounded by the darkness, left in the cesspit of my darkest memories.
The mind is a powerful thing.