Chanting Drum Line

She thinks about killing herself the way most people think about the weather. Or a loved one. Or a favorite TV show. Sometimes the thoughts are fleeting, passing through her mind like a radio station that is never quite clear as it fades in and out. Other times the thoughts are persistent. Sometimes, they’re loud; screaming in her ears like a gruesome drum line.

Kill yourself.
Kill yourself.
Kill yourself.

She walks, head held high with the smallest forced smile as she daydreams of blood. Unzipped wrists with scarlet warmth dripping from her fingertips. She can’t quite look in a mirror without envisioning opening up her own throat and releasing the world’s reddest river to drown herself in.

A metal rectangle, wrapped carefully as to make sure the edges don’t poke her skin while she walks, weighs heavy in her pocket. Just in case some pressure, trapped beneath the surface, must be released. The skin needs to be unzipped. She argues with the drum line.

Survive.
Survive.
Survive.

A deep breath to calm the thoughts, but they continue on. Visions of opened skin and crimson red release.

These thoughts make no sense. Not long ago, she was sure the color pink tasted like cotton candy and blue and purple tasted like jolly ranchers. The sounds that escape from the keys of a beautifully played piano looked like a rainbow poking through the clouds after a rain storm. She was going to change the world! She would paint it with a thousand colors! Brighten it for all to see! She smiled. She laughed. She walked with a jump in her step, as if she were floating. Her credit card became maxed out again from the 2 am excitement of online shopping, but it didn’t matter, money held no importance in a world of beauty and color.

Perhaps, she should have seen the downfall when she saw the triangle-shaped spider from another plane of existence descend from the ceiling for only her to see. Or, when the shadow beetles found their way across the floors, scurrying without features and vanishing into shadows.

She should have known when she wanted to tear apart her skin to let it all out, to slice the flesh and release the pressure as if she were opening up a festering wound.

The crash was there, just as it has always been. Why couldn’t she see it! How could she be so blind! Nothing matters now, for all she can hear is the chanting drum line:

Kill yourself.
Kill yourself.
Kill yourself.

As she argues back ferociously:

Survive.
Survive.
Survive.

 

 

***End note: If you, are anyone you know, are having thoughts of suicide or self-harm, please get help!

Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255
Phone anxiety? Me too. If you need help, but calling isn’t your thing, text:
HOME to 741741

You are not alone.

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