Can we sleep forever?
"Whatever you've been through, someone else has been through that before."
I hate that sentence.
It makes me feel stupid, weak and frustrated all in one.
It makes me feel guilty.
I walk down to my 4pm to 6pm classes, trying to gather my thoughts, but the major thing that sat in my mind was this question.
What was I doing here?
I sit down on the last seat in Lecture Hall 4 amongst other kids, hoping that someone was feeling the same way I did.
Suffocated.
Like there was this hairball stuck in my throat in the form of word vomit, waiting for the right time to spit it out.
But there's never a right time.
The class went on with my brain hardly functioning, my mind questioning my existence.
Why do you keep struggling to live?
You're a waste of resources.
I chuckle silently, knowing I've heard that one so many times in my head, and was starting to agree with it.
I wasn't a bright student.
I wasn't a well liked student either.
Hell, I wasn't even a good student.
I was a student barely hanging on average with a carryover.
I was terrified from the exam and even after I had written the exam again, I failed it.
I felt unworthy.
My existence felt like a disgrace.
My family praised me in public while they knew the truth and used it to mock me in private.
It's not like I wanted to study the course anyway, I reasoned, trying to give myself relief.
It didn't help.
I still felt tired.
I struggled to head back to the dorms after the class ended. It was a feat, as my mind kept overthinking things that shouldn't make sense, but they did. The voices in my head became louder as I dropped my books and I headed to the shower.
You're wasting space.
Your family regrets birthing you.
I turned on the shower head, allowing my newly found tears to mix with the water. It didn't help. The voices grew louder.
You should just die now, to avoid wasting your family's money anymore.
They'd get over your death in a week.
I raised my head, spotting an abandoned razor on the shower dish. Probably the last person that used the bathroom. The voices reverberated within my ear drums, sounding like a symphony..a theme song.
The theme song of my death.
I glanced at the razor again, then at my wrist. I was a nursing student. I knew what veins and arteries to cut to drain myself quickly, of blood and life.
You can do it.
You won't need to think of anything after death.
You won't need to do anything.
Just die.
The voice was making my head heavy now, and I wanted to let it go.
Let it all go.
I grabbed the razor, already cutting through my epidermis.
Yes.
I used the razor to trace the pathway of my incision.
My brain felt a rush of adrenaline.
Yes.
Die.
Die.
Die.
The tempo of my theme song was mind-blowing. With one final flick, blood oozed out and I watched it try to clot as I slumped to the floor.
My mouth that felt heavy, became lighter.
My vision blurred here and there.
It was really happening.
Yess.
I couldn't see anymore. I was partially blind in one eye anyways.
The last thing I heard over the sound of the shower was the voice of another girl that wanted to use the bathroom.
And then my voice came out in a whisper, a kind of croak.
"Can we sleep forever?"
To be continued....
Writer Details:Kenneth Daniella✍️
Location:Wellspring University,Edo State,Nigeria 🇳🇬.
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