If there is one thing in the world I promised myself NOT to do, it´s that I would not kill myself. No matter how heavy the feeling, no matter how dark the path or hopeless the future, I would NOT kill myself.
When I was eleven years old I watched my mum die of an overdose. I found her after school on the kitchen floor. Foam was dripping down her chin on her pale chest, emphesizing the maple white colour of her skin. The blood running from her nose making its way to her bright red lips. Magnifizent I thought, how she managed to chose almost the same colour for her lipstick. She had cleaned up the kitchen. I could not decide weather to admire the blinking kitchen sink or her flipping body and the little shocks running through it. I stood frozen, not sure how to react. Two deep breaths, three deep breaths later I took two pieces of bread. With the orange kitchenknife I smeared a thick layer of maionaise on it. Hell yeah, I made myself a tuna-sandwich. Then I called my dad.
"Just go to your room", he said with a calm clear voice, "it´s gonna be fine". I knew he was right, it would. Upstairs I opened the lid of my record player and put on Jefferson Airplane. Sitting on my knitted bedcover, chewing tuna and bread i watched the black vinyl spin. There were no more noises from downstairs.
She had chosen pills. There were various of them everywhere in the house. Some to calm her down, some to make her sleep, some to wake her up and some to allow her to think other than dark thoughts. She never cooked meals but pills we always had. Since I can remember she was fighting beeing soaked in this spiral of dark and negative thoughts. She had stopped slicing up her skin but never stopped slicing up her soul.
She had chosen pills. There were various of them everywhere in the house. Some to calm her down, some to make her sleep, some to wake her up and some to allow her to think other than dark thoughts. She never cooked meals but pills we always had. Since I can remember she was fighting beeing soaked in this spiral of dark and negative thoughts. She had stopped slicing up her skin but never stopped slicing up her soul.
Thinking of her death was soothing. She would not have to struggle anymore with the exhausting things of daily life like getting up, getting dressed, leaving the house.... I heared the doorlock and my dead calling an ambulance. He did not cry, he did not scream.
Climbing down the stairs I could see him kneeing next to her. Gently he ran his fingers through her dark hair, wearing a warm smile on his face. The sunlight danced on the kitchen sink. "Look, she s finally in peace. Ain´t it beautiful?", he said.
It´s funny how even nowadays tuna sandwiches and blinking kitchen sinks would remind me of my dads smile and my mums suicide. Things did not change much afterwads, they just went on. But I would never kill myself. I would never kill myself, because I did not believe him that she was in peace.
