Blood stained hands

Death is easy, but dying is dreadful. Letting go is much harder than holding on. The will to live is particularly harsh as everything inside has the aching desire for life. With a final realization that these are your last moments on earth, you can find peace. I had never found peace in my time alive, I cannot remember what the absence of  misery feels like. Until now. Now I am blissfully nothing.

While we live our short insignificant lives on this planet, we become ignorant to the inevitability that our time will end, and we will cease to exist. This way, we can enjoy our lives without the constant feeling of doom. However, death is lethargically euphoric. There isn’t an ounce of terror or doom and peace will consume you. Peace has always been foreign to me.

There was a time I meant something, a time when I owned my life. Before I met him. As a little girl life was simple. Simple house, simple friends, simple parents, simple everything. As I stare at my damaged cold hands, I remember when those same hands housed friendship bracelets, secret handshakes and piano playing over the years. I was a wonderful piano player, music ran through me like the oxygen in my blood. Serotonin releasing from my brain with every key I played, a simple pleasure I had. Simple pleasures are hard to find as we grow older, our happiness seems to whither away with our souls. I wonder if I was ever truly happy.

I cannot remember a time when I connected with another being. My parents were disconnected and uninterested. They were occupied with their completely miserable repetitive lives. I had never been enough for my mother as I got older, she expected something different than what she got. My father was just uninterested by me, not negligent but never fatherly. I had one sister. She had always been the preferred choice. My parents loved to gloat about their perfect creation, she was what they had wanted. As far as our relationship was concerned, it became non existent. We were close as little girls, but as time went on she became oblivious to our differences. When she disappeared it was obvious I would not be an adequate replacement for her absence. She was found in a baseball field, with her head bashed in. She had become a severely unlikeable person, although it had made me surprisingly upset regardless of out lack of connection. I might have said we would see each other again, but I will be going to a different place than her.

When you die you look back on the moments that brought you joy. The moments that felt like Christmas morning or watching fireworks. Death has reassured me that my life was dull and lacked connection. My whole life felt like I was watching it happen from the outside of a house, looking through a window instead of being inside with everyone. To me, life was waking up everyday and pretending. Pretending to love, pretending to hurt, pretending to laugh. Nothing felt natural. Humans are moronic and can’t see past words, you tell them you love them and they become your lap dog. Animals on the other hand can sense things. They can feel what humans can’t. Animals hated me. It became obvious when my sister and I got our first puppy. A golden retriever, the runt of the litter. It was almost as if I was invisible to him, he would go out of his way to stay a distance away from me. He was disgustingly obsessed with my sister, just like everyone else in our life. That is why I could not have cared less when he died. An animal must have gotten him outside of something of that nature, we found him all mangled. In all honesty none of our animals really lived long lives after that dog. Everywhere I went death would occur, and now I guess I am no exception.

The beginning and the end of my life happened when I met him. Meeting him made me feel as though my purpose was not just to simply exist, but to experience. I’ve heard that when two souls that come from the same light meet, the world stops. But what happens when two souls from the same darkness meet? Our love grew fast like a wild fire, burning anything just to grow bigger.

He was a profound man with many ambitions, he walked the earth as if he created it. I was drawn in from the second we locked eyes. To me, he was a needle and a spoon. We were able to talk about nothing for hours and we could sit in comfortable silence for just as long. He was the closest I had ever gotten to feeling connected with the world.

The moment when I truly felt like my soul was part of his was when he told me his brother had died. He told me he died from health complications in their childhood and that not a day goes by he does not think of him. He could have told me whatever he wanted, but I knew the truth. I knew the dark truth about his brother, even if he won’t admit it to himself.

The world was no longer grey when I was with him. I was seeing in colour and for once and I would sleep hoping I’d see the sun rise.

A riptide is life's way of showing you that even in the most innocent pleasures, life can go wrong in the blink of an eye. The ocean is one of the most beautiful treasures of the planet and it is a privilege to experience it. However, the most beautiful things are the most dangerous, and a riptide can pull you out without you even being aware. As panic sets in, every muscle begins thrashing, fighting for life. But it is too late, and the riptide swallows you. The ending of my life was a riptide. The most beautiful thing hurt me the most and ended my existence, I didn’t realize I was caught until it was far too late. It became clear that I was much more invested than he, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to change that. I would have done anything for him. Anything. There was a time I would say he would do the same but now I know it was all a sick and twisted ruse. Watching something vanish that once meant everything to you is more painful than a knife in the chest.

They say sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never hurt you. That is factual until the words are coming out of the mouth of someone you would die for. He didn’t even have to say anything, I knew I began to be someone he no longer wanted in his life. History started repeating itself and I began to be the second option once again. He was depriving me of the attention he once drowned me in. I didn’t know he was able to hurt me the way he did.

I am unsure of when we fell out of love, and I am not sure if we ever truly were. Our codependence became obsessive and it became an ownership. I realized that he began to resent me. It was smaller things at first, he hated the space I took up in his life. He hated how he had to share with me with me. No one ever thinks they are in an abusive relationship, it just happens. While love is a mind game so is abuse, who can actually tell the difference? Neither of us could and I truly believe that in the end, he had a burning hatred for me. Passion goes two ways, and the direction you chose can have drastic effects. I never knew I had even changed directions, but my passionate love for him began to feel wrong. The moment I wish I had never met him, was the moment my life felt worthless. I had done everything for him, my life was a pathetic waste. It felt like every bit of happiness that I had ever felt had been crushed in front of my eyes.

My body that lay stiff on the apartment floor slightly resembles the body that once housed my soul. Seeing it for the first time from his perspective is daunting. I wonder how he was able to live with himself after everything he did to me. The only thing that ever mattered to me was never real, and that fact alone was enough to shut me off completely. He was the worst person I ever knew and I hated myself for falling into this mindless trap. He made me feel worthless, vile and useless. I was human waste. Nothing mattered after that. Why did he hate me? What had I done to disgust him? I will never know the answer because that body no longer carries my soul.

As i stare at my cold lifeless body, I can clearly see all 14 stab wounds. The blood, dried to my body, and pooling on the floor is the same blood that once pumped through my veins. He will never feel the sun shine on his skin after this. He will never feel love. He will never feel joy, and nothing in my life has ever compared to the pleasure that gives me. Slaughtering your poor helpless girlfriend is unforgivable. Leaving me was the worst decision he ever made, I gave him more than everything. I was everything. His body will rot inside a bleak cell until his biological clock is up, and his mind will suffer the consequences of pondering each and every moment that lead up to this. In the end it was all worth it, every emotion, every time the blade penetrated my skin, every drop of blood I shed. Have you ever stabbed yourself 14 times?