No Name

My heart hurts. It stings, and it burns. I hate that my heart hurts. I hate it. My heart should've never gotten this hurt. And whose fault is it? Mine. My fault. I let him in. How could I let him in? He was just a boy that I met on the internet. But was he really? Why did he have to have so much importance? Why did I ignore him?

His name was evan, and I met him on some chatting app that my friend hannah had introduced to me. He had popped up in quick add, and of course my naive self added him. He instantly messaged me with a simple " hi ". We had chatted for a little while. He seemed like a nice person, and was interested in the same ideas that I was. He was also around my age. But to make sure this wasn't some crazy pedophile, I asked for a video chat. He agreed and I luckily found out that he was not a liar.

He had golden brown hair, with piercing blue eyes. His skin was moon white, and he had little freckles on each side of his nose. And his smile-God his smile- was the most extraordinary thing that a person could ever look at. Every today I can remember the date that we first started talking- january third. I knew I loved him.

From then on, we talked and talked. I told him everything. Everything. I spilled my heart out to him, and he did the same. He was perfect, but he didn't think so. Evan suffered from serious depression. He was constantly fighting the urge to die, and I didn't understand it. Today, I do. He was so sad all the time. All I wanted to do was take his pain away. But I couldn't even see him. I lived in south Carolina, and he lived in California. Why did he have to be so far?

Everything was going okay, until it wasn't. Ten months after Evan and I started talking, my mother died from a hit and run. It happened fast. There were no days at a hospital praying that she would get better. There were no news reports, and no defibrillations. She never even got the chance. There was no confession from the person who did it. The police looked back on the tapes from the telephone pole and could only make out that it was a male figure. That man is a coward like the rest of the people In this simple minded world.

The point is, my mom was my everything. And when all of that was taken away from me, I slipped into a dark, dark hole. So I stopped talking to Evan. How could I talk to him? What could I say? Tell him that I felt the same way he was supposed to be the broken one? Why did he have to be so broken? Why did I?

Why. It's all I ever ask but not once have I gotten an answer. Yet still, I continue to ask, I won't stop. I wish why never existed so that I wouldn't have countless questions with no answers.

One month after Evan spammed me, he spammed me again. That time the voicemails were different. In every single one of them was crying, and begging for the forgiveness that he did not need. He was desperate, and begging for help. Still, I ignored them. Like I was some sort of Goddess that deserved everything good and couldn't possibly deal with people that were below me. But the thing is, he was below me. He was a skyscraper and I was just a tiny birdhouse. He was the definition of perfect, and me? I was the definition of mistake. Maybe I knew it the whole time when I was talking to him or maybe I didn't, but I for sure know it now.

Two days after he spammed me for the second time, I received a message on facebook from his mother saying that he was dead. He killed himself. He killed himself and it was my fault. I had ignored him. I should've never ignored him. I can't live myself. I hate myself for what I've done.

It's been a year since he died. The world is abominable and grievous, and I just can't take it anymore. Its as if I'm looking through a kaleidoscope, and every color I see is a different emotion. Except my kaleidoscope has only two colors blue and black. Blue is for sadness. The terrible, terrible sadness, that couldn't possibly leave. The kind of sadness that is visible. Everyone can tell that I'm sad, and I hate that too. I cannot escape this sadness. It is everlasting. Black is for loneliness. Because no matter what I feel, I will always feel alone. Yes, I have friends. But my friends could never make me feel like I belong. I am constantly stuck in a state of sorrow.

I long for happiness. For my pain to go away. I no longer can remember the days that I would smile or laugh. Now, my days are filled with agony. I am constantly fighting a war with myself.

My father says that I have depression. The definition of depression is feelings of severe despondency and dejection. Despondency is a state of low spirits caused by loss of hope or courage. Dejection is a sad and depressed state; low spirits. I do not have low spirits. My spirits are very high, because I do not want to feel the way that I do. Therefore, my father is wrong. I do not have depression. This world is just not my place. But it was his.

This is why I am currently standing on the roof of a two

Hundred foot tall building. I have decided that it's my time to go. I don't deserve to live after I've killed someone. And I have to give credit to the firefighters and police officers all the way at the bottom of this building. They really are trying to save me. But sadly, they are too late- everyone is. My decision is made, and I'm going to jump. I hope that I get to see him and tell him how perfect he is.

I lifted my foot off the rail, and fell back against the wind. The more I fell, the louder it got. And then, I was gone.

Lead Image Source: https://unsplash.com/photos/4jy1DQKmX2w