Sweet Dreams

I’ve wanted to die for so long. I’m just a worthless ugly piece of shit, even my own fucking parents think so. I look into the mirror located on my closet door. My greasy black hair is messy and sticking out at odd angles. There’s shadows under my tired eyes, my black jeans are dirty and torn, and my black shirt is covered in blood. My blood. I did this to myself, the cuts on my arms and legs, the scars, the hatred from my family, being beaten every single fucking day in high school. And where has it gotten me? Absolutely fucking nowhere. I live in my mom’s basement, I have no job, I have nothing. I’m just a fucking loser.

I pop open the pill bottle I stole from one of the guys I fuck in order to get more pills and booze. See yet another reason of why I’m a fucking failure. I shove a handful of the blue capsules into my mouth and swallow. I grab my beer bottle and finish the remainder of it, not caring about the consequences, not caring about anything. I lay back down on my unmade bed, waiting for the effects of the pills and alcohol to take its course. I stare up at the ceiling, I look at the swirls and patterns, raising my hand to trace them. My limbs and mind begin to feel numb, I feel like I’m floating, I continue to trace the flower patterns as the high continues making me feel weightless and rather loopy. The pain and loathsome thoughts begin to fade, I smile and giggle for the first time in forever relishing the moment of pure bliss.

Suddenly, I hear a knock at my door. “Gee….you okay?” I hear a small voice say. Mikey. My fifteen year old brother, the only one who’s ever been there for me, the only person left that I love. I can’t let him see me like this, not again. I quickly sit up, everything is spinning, my vision is blurry. It all looks so fuzzy. I hear Mikey turning the doorknob. No!

“I…I’s finnnnee Mikeeeey, juss leave.” I slur and mumble making it barely audible but it’s too late I see him standing in the door way his eyes fearfully scanning my messy habitat, broken beer bottles, discarded pill bottles, dirty clothes, and crumbled paper litter the floor and bed. Not to mention the hateful things I wrote on my walls. Die faggot! You’re a fucking waste! Kill yourself! Are just a few. Mikey adjusts his glasses as if attempting to make sure he’s actually seeing what he’s seeing. He then directs his attention towards me, a mixture of shock, anger, and pity takes hold of his innocent face. I suddenly feel sick as I lie back down on my bed, hoping he’ll leave. Instead he moves closer to my bed until he is standing over me. Tears are beginning to fall down his face.

“I’m fucking done, Gerard. I’ve tried to help you over and over again but you don’t fucking listen! You never have and you never will! You’re not my fucking brother, I don’t know what you are anymore. No wait I do know, you’re just a fucking disappointment!” Mikey screams as he spits at me, the glob hitting my forehead, I try to speak but no words come out. He then scoffs and runs out, slamming the door behind him shut, making me jump slightly. I lie there, numb, for what feels like an eternity until the high finally wears off and all of my emotions come flooding back. I begin sobbing hysterically. Unable to control it. I’ve just lost the last person that I loved. I am a fucking disappointment. I’m fucking worthless. I stand up and move over to my mirror, staring at the pathetic boy in it before a sudden burst of anger causes me to smash my fist against the glass, shattering it into a million pieces. My hand is now bleeding but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything anymore. I suddenly remember the pistol that I kept underneath my bed in case of emergencies.

Maybe it would be better if I just die. Death can finally relieve me of my pain. Death is the answer. I stumble over to my bed, bending down on the dirtied floor, my hand searches for the wooden box until finally I feel it. I grab it and lift it up, laying it upon my bed. My hands start to shake as I reach for the lid, I slowly open it taking deep breathes as tears still fall, drenching myself in my misery. The pistol is old and dusty but it will do the job. Before grabbing it I quickly realize that I should leave a note. I rush over to my desk where I house all of my art supplies even though I was shit at drawing, and painting, and everything. I grab a red permanent marker and make my way over to the wall above my headboard.

I write in huge letters: This is not your fault Mikey, remember I will always love you. It should be longer, it should be more meaningful, but that’s the best it’s going to get. I throw down the marker as I pick up the gun and sit on my bed. My tears drop unto the black metal, I check to see if it’s loaded, only two bullets but that will do. I slowly bring it to my head, my hands shaking, my heart racing. I’ve made my decision. The cold, metal rests against the soft skin of my temple. My finger on the trigger ready to pull. “I’m sorry Mikey, I just can’t carry on.” I whisper through broken cries as I pull the trigger. The sound of a gunshot erupts as the world fades to black carrying me into another life, a better one.

Notes

I'm tired so it might be terrible so I apologize for that, but anyway please leave a comment or message me letting me know your thoughts. So long and goodnight, love you :)