As I walk through the halls of my high school, the other students just looking through me, I feel alone. I reach my classroom and take my usual seat in the back corner. Sulking, I wait for the bell to begin today’s lesson.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
“Settle down and take your seats,” the teacher shouts over the noise of chattering students.
Class begins. I pull out last nights homework, and as the teacher comes around to collect them, I am missed. Of course she would forget about me. I’m invisible to everyone, like always. I’m always forgotten. I’ll just hand it in at the end of class.
As the lesson continues the teacher asks the class a question. As usual I am the only one with an answer. I raise my hand. She calls on a classmate of mine who was not raising his hand. Again, not unusual for me.
Class lets out and I go back to maneuvering my way through the crowded halls. I make my way to the lunch room and take my seat in a corner no one seems to go near. No one ever went near it. Or me. I have always been an outcast.
After a few more hours of school, a few more hours of being looked through, I finally make my way home. It’s only a 20 minute walk, but feels like an hour. I walk in the front door, even my own brother doesn’t show any response to my arrival.
I head up to my room and open the door. Frozen, I stare inside. What is happening? What is this? Are my eyes playing tricks on me? This can’t be real.
Inside, there is a rope tied to the ceiling fan, in the form of a noose. Dangling from the end of it… Is me. What? No. That can’t be me. I let out an ear-piercing shriek. Running downstairs, i have tears pouring down my cheeks.
I yell to my brother, “What kind of sick joke is this? You’ve gone too far this time!”
No response. He must be playing a joke. He always does. Trying to make me think I’m dead. This has gone too far. I run to him and try to shake his shoulders, but my hands slip right through him.
What is this? What is happening?
It dawns on me… That was me… I am… Oh dear God...
I am dead. I… killed myself.
I remember being depressed last night, but I don’t remember doing this. The last thing i can recall was chugging a bottle of NyQuil.
The garage door opens. My mother walks in. Oh thank God! Mom! I need you! Only you can make this delusion stop!
“Where’s your sister,” she says looking at my brother.
He shrugs and continues watching TV. My mom heads up the stairs towards my room. I run after her. No! Don’t open the door! Please!
She opens it. Her jaw drops. She falls to the floor. She’s so stunned she can’t make a noise. She lets out heavy sobs.
Hearing the thud of my mother’s fall, my brother comes to investigate. He peers past my mom into my room. Lets out a cry and falls to the ground and holds my mother. They sit there for what feels like hours, crying.
I never thought I’d see my own funeral. Standing over the coffin, I watch sadly as they lower me into the ground. A mother should never have to bury her own child. I’m so sorry, Mom.
If I could go back, and do it all over….
I wake up. Feeling groggy and sluggish… Wait. What?
Mother comes running into my room. “What?”
“Oh my God. I’m…. I’m alive!”
“Well no shit! Wait, why wouldn’t you be?”
“I… I drank all the NyQuil last night…. And then the dream I had… It was so real,” I cried to her.
She comes to the edge of my bed and holds me.
“I love you,” she whispers.
Tears flowing from my eyes, “I love you, too.”