Personal Narrative-Assisted Suicide

I nestled in the suffocating sheets of the bedding in my room, the room I had been confined to since the tragedy. The tragedy that twisted my once perfect life into a tumbling spiral of pure sorrow that I couldn't grasp. I breathed raggedly peering into the complete blackness of the room. I listened to the constant echoes of the machines that pumped medicine into my fragile body. I felt that I didn't deserve it because of the misfortunes that I caused. Feeling my mood dimming down to an invading amount of various levels of regret, I reprimanded myself for not allowing the overly energetic nurse to open the shutters. I knew this is what I deserved for my irresponsibility. The irresponsibility that lead to the death of my beloved friend. Unfortunately, I was the one to take the blame for it. I was like an anchored boat. The only difference was that the boat was able to stay afloat, while I am steadily descending into the never-ending pool of nothingness. …show more content…
I began recalling the moments like a foreign film. I was glued into the position I was resting in unable to withdraw myself from my own demons. I recalled the cup of forbidden liquid. I held it tightly in my shaking hands while I laughed at my friend's constant protest putting the poison into my body. I remembered speeding and swerving against the railing of the roads and thriving in the moment like I was in an action movie. I ignored logic wanting to go against the grain for once in my life. I felt that I should have the right to take risk because I was always forced to be perfect, as my parents expected me to be. I felt like I was merely a shell within myself wanting badly to break