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Chapter One
As she lay back down on the bed, her hands firmly clasped behind her head, she looked up at the ceiling fan as it slowly whirled above her. She wondered how much pain she would actually feel depending on which route she chose to go with. There were many ways to end one's life. However, she was always the sensible one, so that meant choosing a scenario that would cause the least amount of drama for the person who would find her. She knew it had to be the least shocking and grotesque option, not to mention it needed to be the least painful and more importantly, it needed to be successful. She had always had a painful life but at this point she did not see any options that would lead to a change in her life.
This overwhelming weight pressed upon her greatly. The depression was a mass so heavy at times that it often took a physical form. The depression seemed to physically stop her in her tracks and she would have to remind herself how to breathe. She would feel herself suck in a huge mouthful of air, filling her lungs, almost as if she were about to hold her breathe for a long time under water. Her body would tremble and she would try and re-focus on the fan as it continued to swirl above her.
A knife would be painful. Too messy as well, leaving a scene too gruesome for the survivors. If she were unsuccessful, there would also be scars that would be left behind; reminders that would continually mock her, taunting her that in this too she was a failure. No matter how many negatives she found in this frequent fantasy she could not help thinking of it often. She knew which knife she would actually use, she had picked it out in her mind at least a hundred times. After the initial slash, she would have to slash the other arm quickly before she chickened out. This was another downfall in her scenario. How long would it actually take? She wondered about that as well. She could almost smell the blood as it pulsated out of her body. Her heart she would feel beating fast at first with the increase of adrenaline and then it would taper off and slow as it dispensed the last drop of blood and life out of her. The blood would be warm as it would run down her arm, and there would be that smell. Blood had a distinctive smell. One that not only did you smell, but in some peculiar way you could almost taste. It had a metallic finish to it as it infused your senses. No that was not going to be the way, not today, not here.
In the distance she heard her phone going off, it sounded as if someone was texting her. They could wait, she was sure it wasn't an emergency. It was probably one of the kids or her husband. It did bring her out of her latest suicide scenario. She slowly sat upright in bed, looking around the room and wondered what time it was. Was it time to start dinner or maybe pick up the kids from practice or tutoring? The ceiling fan continued to rotate above her, clicking in its familiar pattern. Never deviating from its pattern, she laughed at the thought of how similar she had become to the fan. Both lifeless and continuing in one set circular pattern, never going anywhere and the only change was the pace at which they went.
She reached for her phone and saw the text was from her husband. She didn't need to finish reading it as she knew what it would say. His excuse was always the same, "Sorry Megan, working late again. We're short staffed". She knew he would not be making it home in time for dinner. He rarely made it home for anything lately. She had gotten to the point that she never even set a plate out for him. Sometimes when she would hear him coming in late at night, she would pretend to be asleep. She would hear him as he attempted to quietly open their bedroom door. This is when she would feel him enter the room as his frame filled the doorway blocking off the hallway light and casting a shadow that seemed to consume their bedroom. He was a tall man, athletically built, standing at 6'4". As he lay down beside her, the bed would always creak and the mattress would shift with the weight of him. But it was the smell of the perfume that would cause her body to shudder as it hit her nostrils, which would in turn provoke a wave of nausea. She could taste the bile as it burned the back of her throat making its way into her mouth. On most occasions she was able to choke it back down and she would feel the burn it as it continued its way down. Other times she would only be able to make it to the bathroom just in time to throw up what little dinner she had attempted earlier in the evening. On those occasions she would run the water so that he would not hear her. She did not want any indication that she knew where he had been. This was her burden and her pain and the only thing left in her life that she could control. She knew the drill; she would rise from her knees once that last bit of vomit would have escaped her. She would know when she was through as her body would continue to make the spontaneous spasms of dry heaving until only foam remained. Her body would shake uncontrollably as she would attempt to rinse the evidence of this foul experience from her mouth. The tang of the sourness would once again make her body involuntarily shudder.
Looking in the mirror across from her she would see her face. Once beautiful in her youth, it was now a face she could no longer recognize. Touching the skin beneath her eyes, she would attempt to smooth out the wrinkles that had appeared. She looked older than she was, and her eyes would look back at her with no recognition of what she had become.
Next she would open the medicine cabinet as she continued to run the water. She would not want her husband to hear its door squeaking. She made a mental note to herself to use the W-D 40 that she had found down in the laundry room to correct this problem for the future. Inside the cabinet there was an array of medications. She picked up a prescription bottle and it happened to be her muscle relaxant, she knew this would help her sleep, but sometimes it took too long. She returned it to the shelf and chose her anxiety medication. Maybe tonight she would take both, she didn't need to get up for work the next day as it was the weekend, so she would be able to sleep it off. She swallowed the two sets of pills and returned to the bedroom. She made sure to always face away from him. The mere sight of his handsome well chiseled face always seemed to bring her more pain.
There was a time when they were younger that she could not resist him. He had always been the star athlete and was well loved by all. His personality had been charismatic which drew her to him immediately. Today it was different. They had tried to fix their marriage years ago, but nothing had worked. They had tried the usual routes to fixing a marriage that most couples tried: counseling, separation, romantic vacations, and even self-help books. Nothing seemed to take them back to that place of comfort and love that they both had so enjoyed. Perhaps they had been together too long or the fact that they both couldn't bring themselves to hurt the family all over again. She didn't even blame him for the affair, she understood, she had become a mere shell of what she had once been. She was unable to feel or give emotion to anyone. They had all been through so much already, and no one seemed to be showing any signs of healing. No visible signs that they were over any part of it and on the road to some sort of recovery and closureOver the years it had continued to grow harder and harder for them to communicate and express their pain, so one by one they all seemed to drift further and further away. Even their closest friends moved on and distanced themselves from the family. The weight of their loss seemed to be drowning the entire family and anyone who had managed to stay around them. . It had immediately paralyzed the entire family. It was toxic and there never seemed to be a way out of their darkness. It was always there. They all felt the pain daily whether or not anyone ever mentioned it. It had been five years to the day since their eldest child had been killed.