A Bitter Story

I have this weird fondness for everything dark, bitter, and has "emo" feeling in it. Like gore themed movies, dark illustrations (as if you don't know already *lol*), emo music, horrific mangas, and suicidal novels. Well if you read my other blog, it'll be obvious that my reading choice is always dark and specifically suicidal.

There's no particular reason about my guilty pleasure except that I consider happy-themed films (and books) are only too good to be true (it's not that I don't like them, I just take the dose at the minimum level). They will just make us envy. And then you'll start to imagine things, something happy that you already know it couldn't happened in your real life. I mean, think about it: when you look at something horrible you'll start to be grateful of your current state, that your actual life is far better than everything told in the story. Some kind of dopamine that turn my fear of life into the smallest kind, and I'll be relieved for it.

I'm that bitter.

But really, I never expect something like that to happen in my real life. As if my life is not horrible enough *chuckles*.
"Hi. I think he doesn't want me anymore. I think his family will never notice me as their member. I think nobody needs me anymore. I wonder what he'd be doing when he come home seeing me as a body with no soul. With no life."
I re-read the text again and again and again. Because I've just wake up and I haven't got my mind clear enough to read something like that.
"What do you mean?" I replied.
"I don't know if I could be around anymore. I'd better die."
I hold my breath as my heart beating so fast and I started to shiver. I called her cell phone. She didn't picked up. I text-ed her again.
"Whoa. Don't do anything stupid. Istighfar. Please don't."
She didn't reply. I text-ed her again.
"OMW to your place."

I've never imagine that in my life I'll meet the darkness myself. In front of my very own eyes. And I have no idea what to do. I text-ed one of my best friends (he's the kind I couldn't call by phone, in this case), tried to make decision. My mom didn't interested in something like this (trust me, I had tried many times). I felt my heart pounding but I have no idea what I should do, nor who I could talk to. I just feel my shoulder being heavier and my head starts spinning.

I read so many books and see so many movies about this kind of thing but frankly, they didn't explain how to stop it. I mean, how to stop people being suicidal? Well, seriously? An actual suicide was going to happen and every time I think that nobody will that desperate or coward enough to do such thing, I was like, come on, bring it. It's creepy that at the moment I had a feeling, "what if I let her?" or "is she for real? Okay, let's see how far will she go."

The kids toys were shattered everywhere in that empty house. Not merely empty, because she was there. Alone. Playing role. Pretending her kids were around her. Baby-talked to the toys as if they were alive. The baby walker played the kids' music. I approached her when I saw a knife, held by her right hand, as if she used it as a property to play cooking with her kids. Then I grabbed the knife from her hand. It wasn't so hard, but with my shivering hands and pounding heart, it felt like hell. I could be stabbed. And I might die, too.
As I took the knife, I throw it away to a place that she would unlikely to reach. I took her phone away and try to find anyone, anyone she had called. Her dad. I called him, trying to convinced him to come to the house. And in the time-gap when her dad was on his way, I cried as I saw her crying. I was hurt by my inability to understand what kind of pain she had suffered. And I was more hurt seeing a what-I-used-to-thought-of a solid-rock-tough girl sitting like a mentally disturbed in front of me at the very moment. I didn't know what to do, or talk. I just sit there, hugged her and told her to istighfar, again and again. Although she refused to do it.


The fact that I almost have no empathy, nor the ability to calm a person who need it the most, was unbearable. I used to be a fair listener as many people share their story and secret like very often. And then I used to smile and try to give courage to them whenever I found the right words. I am not actually very mature myself. People just want to talk, so I give them my attention and a little advice. But well, this kind of bitterness - an actual one - was just too much.

Believe me, I can't sleep for several days. I even took my days off. I felt that I need to take a break. I need to stop listening to people, as I'm not very extroverted with my personal life. And I was like, "okay, I found this in the novels and news, I know how to react." But in fact, I just getting bitter and bitter-er. It consumed me. I was afraid.

"I really appreciate your coming yesterday. I didn't know what I was going to do if you didn't care. Everything was okay now, thank you for calling my dad, too."
I smiled softly.
"You're welcome. So I did the best I could, for you have so many people loving you, and insha Allah, everything is going to be okay."
She nodded.
I paused the conversation with a sigh, and then I added,
"I've been there once. Different case, but similar tendency. I just wish I won't life another day seeing any of these again. So, please, just, try to live." 

1 comment:

WOW Thank you!