I Thought Nobody Would Really Care If I Died.
I was wrong.
I remember writing the letter to my loved ones. I told them I was sorry if I actually caused any pain, but I simply couldn’t handle it any longer. Nobody was to blame, except myself. Nothing I did was right, I was just wasting my time and everyone else’s. I mean I was, wasn’t I? I never accomplished anything. I was just a disappointment, a pathetic excuse for a human.
After I finished the letters I placed them neatly on my desk beside my bed so they’d be found easily.
I realized people would care when it was too late.
I realized my brother cared when he found my limp body, trying to bring me back to life while yelling for help.
I realized my mother cared when she rushed my lifeless body to the emergency room in hopes her daughter would live.
I realized the nurse on my case cared when she begged for my lifeline to return and then questioned why she had to lose someone else like this.
I realized my girlfriend cared when she’d beat herself up about not being there, even though she promised and then refused to accept that I actually went through it.
I realized my best friend cared when he blamed himself because he “should have seen the signs” and when began to show the same signs he missed of mine.
I realized my sister cared when she stayed up late crying her eyes out praying to God for her sister back.
I realized my father cared when he went from only being a social drinker to drinking every minute of the day to numb the pain.
I realized my friend cared when she stopped going to school and spent her days laying in bed staring at the ceiling in complete silence.
I realized my friend’s mother cared when she screamed to the rooftops as she felt the pain of the loss one of her own children.
I realized my coworkers cared when they couldn’t even look at my work station without feeling sick and then turning away.
I realized my sister cared when she lost sleep asking herself what she could have done differently and wishing I was there to be the best aunt to my soon to be nephew.
I realized my teachers cared when they congregated together and said they should’ve been easier on the classwork and helped more.
I realized all these people did in fact care, but weren’t the best of showing it. They cared though, and I couldn’t go back. I was dead. I was dead, but my death caused more than one casualty.
They cared though.
They cared so much.