Why I Didn 't Kill You?

Brutal terror engulfs me nightly as I struggle to sleep. As I close my eyes I see butcher knives flashing around me and I open my eyes in terror hoping I’m not living this nightmare again. My life has become terror and pain which I cannot escape from, a daily torture that will not subside. I cling to the hope that one day this condition will end and I will have a happy, normal life. I cling to this hope through decades of suffering and carrying a heavy cross; the weight of which I no longer feel for I am so used to carrying it. In extreme fear and pain, I will do anything for relief; anything that will ease the terror and numb the pain. My life spirals down into an involvement in illegal activities for with the money gained safety can

Don’t ask me how I feel, I’m not going to tell you. Talking about it makes it worse. When I explain my pain, I have to think about it. Ignore it; maybe it will go away. I dwell on my fears of what may happen. I don’t want to pass that fear on to you. You don’t see it as I do. It’s not your body; it’s not your life. I don’t tell you because I don’t want you to be afraid for me. I can deal with it. I’ll be OK. I don’t tell you because I know that my words are inadequate. I can’t express what it is, yet I do want you to know (even if you can’t exactly feel it). I want to let you in to my world. I want you to know how different my life is from yours, even though it looks much the same. I’m not scarred or crippled.

It’s a struggle to get out of bed sometimes, I often just sit there struggling to comprehend the sequence of events which have taken place over the past year. I mean, I’m used to this now, its normal to me, but the fact that this has happened and that I am now ‘disabled’ as people would put it is hard to get my head around. And every time I look down I’m reminded of the pain and the struggle I faced, it’s a physical scar which links me to my grueling past, a physical and emotional journey.

Pain is universal. In life, everyone will feel pain; it is inevitable and cruel. Physical or emotional, insignificant or severe, it is there. The pain continues mounting into an unbearable amount of suffering. Suffering that blots out everything of worth, such as family, love, aspirations, and optimism. Hopelessness seizes any will to endure. With no way to subside or control the pain, often one will go to extremes in order to be free of it. Many take their life, in order to escape the horror. Committing suicide is a traumatizing experience for any and all involved. Life is precious. The chance to live is only given once, and cannot be taken for granted. Preventing even a single life from ending early is imperative and obligatory

I felt my heartbeat rising every step I took as the blood rushed to the surface of my skin. My muscles tightened, beginning with my legs as if I could’ve ran fast enough to chase the truck. The image of the man and his words repeated many times in my mind, making me vulnerable to hatred. I thought I was doing something good and just. I was naïve. I thought everyone would gladly give us a helping hand. I looked at everyone around me, and I noticed it wasn’t just me that was burning with raged. I could see the anger in their eyes as they conversed with each other. It wasn’t until a loud voice snapped me out of it. “Do not show fear! Do not show anger! Our justice cannot break that easily!”

““It’s not a question of whether you will hurt, or of how much you will hurt; it’s a question of what you will do, and how well you will do it, while pain has her wanton way with you.”””

Embers flew from the campfire, and into the starry night sky; meanwhile, the campers, Jackie, Carl, and Jim, sat close to it for warmth. “Now who's ready for a campfire story?” said Jackie. “You can sometimes go a little overboard, so Carl is taking the wheel.” Carl continued, “Once upon a time” Jim screams, and Carl rolls his eyes at Jim, “May I proceed,” He responds rhetorically. By the time Carl finishes the scary story, Jim has already dashed into the tent, startling his dog, a basset hound named Roxy. Carl along with Jackie look at each other in regretful worry, as they walk towards Jim's tent.

When you’re asleep, the pain stops. There are no thoughts or ideas that run through your brain, you are emotionless. I wish I could feel like that now, all the thoughts start to get to you’re head. At times I wish that I could end it, just to stop the pain. But I need to stay alive, to make sure they’re all okay. Afterwards, I can do as I like but right now, they are my main priority. I can't lose them, they are my one and only family. If they’re gone, then i'm nobody. I just need to go, the longer I wait the more I put myself at risk. Even though I hate myself for what i’ve done, I still need to stay

If pain is inevitable then maybe the best course of action would be to have a reason to suffer. Baldwin’s character Sonny effectively portrays this mindset. In a conversation with his older brother Sonny asks, “‘why do people suffer? Maybe it’s better to do something to give it a reason, any reason’” (44). Sonny’s reason to suffer is from his heroin addiction. He is a musician with an acute sensitivity to the dark environment around him. He feels a deeper, harsher connection to the human’s fate to suffer. “‘I’ve been something I didn’t recognize, didn’t know I could be. Didn’t know anybody could be,’ [Sonny says] ‘Sometimes, you know, and it was actually when I was most out of the world that I felt that I was in it, that I was with it, really, and I could play, it just came out of me, it was there’” (45). By creating a reason for suffering, Sonny seems to suffer more. He reaches a dark, low level and alters who he was, loses his identity. Suffering is what he channeled through his music, because of suffering being everywhere. “It filled everything, the people, the music, the dark, quicksilver barmaid, with menace: and this menace

Nestled in a huge dip of land, in Boone, Iowa, is a tiny girl’s camp with cabins tucked into the trees called Bear Creek. Owned by the LDS church, this little piece of wilderness becomes my home away from home, five days during the summer. This collection of stories comes from the summer of 2015, and is a collage of my fondest memories from that week.

In this dark place I began to hear people ridiculing me for my failures. I had not at the age of nineteen fulfilled any of the self- actualizations I made for myself. In steps substance abuse to hold me tight and caress my worries, silence the voices if I did enough of them at once. Suicide became my favorite dream and pain my release. During this major depression I learned that not everybody hears voices in their heads like I did. This caused further isolation, to complement the depression. I would often walk to Franklin Park a local golfing, sporting, and general hang-out spot. I went there, with pain stored up and compressed in my body, and wait behind the tall trees with a knife in my hand. My intention as usual was to cure my pain by afflicting pain on others. Pain on pain makes pain less painful. This went on for months until one night on the bus ride home from

Why were we raised to believe words cannot inflict pain? That is one lie that we are told to believe when we are young in order to TRY to make ourselves strong individuals. Lies, lies, lies. When the poisonous mouth spoke it felt like a snake sticking their venomous teeth into my skin which caused me to feel paralyzed. There was no antidote. Each and every cut down made me retreat to a secret place, my closet. Four small walls with a broken nob, which did not allow me to leave. Trapped for hours at a time where no one could find me. Music blasting and ear drums blaring as time manages to slowly drift away. Curled up in a ball on the floor asking the LORD why children find happiness with torturing others. Somehow each and every day I managed to rise up from my closet floor and shake off all the dust from my shoulders. I looked up found the lucky screwdriver and managed to loosen my door enough to squeeze through and gaze at the stars. The stars on my ceiling allowed me to believe I am not the only one in the world going through trials to test my ability of strength. Each star had a star right next to each other, meaning they are not alone. I am not alone or am I

I wake up and then I put my makeup on. I look in the mirror and clearly can see what’s wrong. It hurts to know that I can’t let my true self show. Now I know it’s time to let those so called “friends” go. We are the minority and time is of the essence so let’s act quick before we learn our lessons. When I am at school, I hear kids yell at me “you think your cool”. And then I think to myself why do people have to be so cruel? Death and being broke, yeah that’s no joke. And it hurts to say that this is happening every day. The cause of violence is not exact but that doesn’t mean go shoot someone in the back. There are attacks every day so, sometimes I just sit down and pray that the violence goes away. Watching the news leaves me in shock and,

There once was a boy named Jonathan (Jonathan Mcslurre, Jonny for short) and his family, ( including his parents, two sisters, and three brothers) every summer would all go rent a lake house. The lake house was secluded, relaxing, and quiet, mostly because it was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a forest, but nonetheless everyone enjoyed it…well everyone except for Jonathan.

I felt as though my heart had been ripped out of my chest and my lungs were shredded into ribbons. I stared in shock at the tiny little pathetic screen of my cell phone that delivered the message that changed my life forever. I suppose that I always knew what would happen. Humans can’t be trusted, no matter what they tell you or how they act. They always smile and lie through their teeth, then they turn around and stab you in the back. You think that people could change or that they’re different and they won’t hurt you, but you’re wrong. No matter how hard you try, every single person on this planet can hurt you. And there’s nothing you can do to prevent it.