Sitting in the counselor’s office, I begin to panic. I can hear my heart in my head. I feel like it’s about to pop out of my chest.

The counselor sits at her desk in front of me, staring at me with a “tell me all your secrets” smile on her face.

She opens her mouth,

“What brings you in today? Everything going OK?”

I smile faintly, just to make it seem like I’m actually happy to be there.

Suddenly my mind goes numb, and I remember why I’m sitting in that cold, mind-numbing, mouth-paralyzing room.

I begin to have flashbacks, suddenly feeling my entire world stop. A look back at that day in what seems to be a matter of hours.

My mind leaves me and I drift off into thoughts. Memories. Nightmares.

I remember it all far too vividly.

No one was home. My three bedroom, two bathroom apartment was empty and completely silent. Leaving me to my own thoughts.

Dangerous.

I’m sitting in the frigid tub failing to see why I haven’t passed out from loss of blood.

I thought to myself,

“Maybe I did it wrong?”

No, I knew why. My mind and body were waiting for my final step.

I hop out and drag my feet across my apartment and into my room.

I had it all set up.

Paper and towels to stop any blood or bodily accidents. Chair put in place.

I climb up and secure it all making sure nothing goes wrong.

I make a final check of my room making sure that I leave it as neat as possible, and that all my letters are in envelopes and ready to send out.

I’ve given this a lot of thought.

One more time I remind myself of the pain, the misery that other people put me through. So little did people know about me. Always thinking I’m OK because I’m smiling, and only seeing the side of me that was convenient for the world to see.

I found it morbidly humorous how not once that week had a single person bothered to make sure if I was OK. Even if maybe I just needed help getting things off my chest.

Well, now I don’t.

My neck feels the scratchy texture of the rope.

I feel it as it slides onto my neck like a working man’s dry hands.

My final thought of all the faces I know, the beautiful landscapes I’ll never see again. I immediately regret my decision.

It’s too late.

I had already kicked the chair out from under me.

No more time.

No more worries.

This was it. The moment I lost sight, and began to go numb.

Finally.

Darkness.

Back at the counselor’s office. She’s still looking at me, but now with a troubled look. I can tell she wants me to say something. Something that will interest her, and give her something to talk about in this very awkward meeting.

She doesn’t know what happened. She doesn’t know that the rope broke and I lived. That the cuts weren’t deep enough because I was positive that the rope would take me away.

But it didn’t.

So now I sit here in this office, with her giving me the “tell me all your secrets” smile, while my mind goes numb and my mouth finally begins to move. And I manage to get out my typical I’m-fine-now-thank-you sentence,

“Everything is going great. I couldn’t be better. How are you today?”