Читать книгу God's Broken Lil' Baby - E. Jay Ford - Страница 11

Chapter 17

17 Suicide

I Am

My true talent I cannot see

because I am

capable of almost anything.

I accomplish something.

My insides ring

because I am

strong, intelligent, self-reliant.

If I learn it, I will apply it

because I am

the woman I have always wanted to be.

My achievements, big and small, make me so proud of me

because I am,

because I am,

because I am.

I tried to kill myself today. No, really, I tried to commit suicide. I attended East St. Louis Senior High School, and this place is hell. I hate this fucking place. I don’t fit nowhere in this hellhole. The students here made me sick, and they tortured the shit out of me because I don’t have what they have. Our lights were off again, and my mommy had been missing for about two days. Don’t worry, she’s on another smoke binge. She gets a hold of that crack, and there’s no telling when she’ll get back. The gas was off too, and it’s December, so it’s cold as fuck. There’s no fucking food in this house. She sold the damn food stamps again. I hate my fucking life. I don’t even know why God got me here. If I’m not a mistake, I don’t know what the fuck this is. They say God doesn’t make any mistakes, but I don’t know Him that well, so I don’t trust it. I don’t have a soul in this world that I can talk to about this shit. I tried talking to the guidance counselor once. A day or two after I talked to her, I came into the office to give her an update and heard that bitch gossiping about me and my situation with the other bitches in the office over coffee. They were “heeing” and “hawing” and “girl, no” and “that po chile” and a bunch of other bullshit. I was so fucking mad, I just left out. That shit was embarrassing. Never again will I try that shit.

This particular day pretty much sent me over the edge. I went to school today as I always do. They can take a lot of shit from me, but they can’t take my knowledge, and I sure as fuck am not going to hand it over to them. I was one of the smartest motha fuckas in that building, so I kept going. It’s too cold in the house to take a shower. The gas was cut off again, so I stink. On top of no water on this funky ass body, laundry had not been done in about two months. I found the least funky clothes I could find. There was a washer and dryer in the house, but there was a flood in the basement, so it hadn’t worked in years. There was also a fire so a lot of shit in the house that still smelled like smoke. I still go to school. Fuck them, stuck-up, siddity ass kids. I wish I had stayed that strong all my life. I didn’t. Those bitches broke me down. I have never cried so hard in all my life.

We had to do skits this day in advanced English class. I hate that fat white ass teacher bitch too. She always had an attitude and looked angry all the damn time. We had to read a novel, and then she grouped us together to do skits based on the novel. I actually had a boyfriend at the time. He was a mega nerd that hung around a bunch of other mega nerds. They remind you of a broke down version of The Big Bang Theory. He ended up being my husband. That’s another story. Anyway, the first three groups had to do their skits today. They were actually really funny. They read Hamlet and did an In Living Color skit about it. I was enjoying class today. I thought the day was going to be a great day, but then the second group got up to do theirs. That’s when it happened. The day I will never forget began.

Four of our classmates got up in front of the class and mocked my boyfriend, his best friend, his girlfriend, and me. When the girl that was pretending to be me walked into the class, she made herself look as triflin’ as she could possibly look. She had her hair all over her head, clothes mismatched and stained, and walked like her ass stank. I sat in the back of class and damn near died as they announced who they were pretending to be. I had to fight back those tears so hard my chest felt like it was going to explode. As I listened to the class laugh, I couldn’t hear a word that was being said. The feelings I was experiencing blocked all words from my ears. What made these assholes think that this was okay? The teacher didn’t even stop the shit. She didn’t even try to save me. She watched these kids torment me using her fucking assignments in front of everybody in the fucking class, and she said nothing. What made this shit of the utmost ridiculousness was this bitch that played me asked me if I was okay at the end of class. Bitch! What do you think? If you have to ask, you already know you just did some evil shit.

They say imitation is the highest form of flattery. Like hell it is. Humiliation is a norm for me. I go to school with a bunch of pretenders who feel better by making others feel worse. This day was the day that was too much. When I got home, no one was there. I’m sure my mommy was somewhere high as fuck. Sissy wasn’t home from Lincoln. We were both in high school, but after going to Hughes-Quinn Junior High School together, I decided I wanted to go to a different high school. She was probably out hanging with her friends in the Gompers. Little Brother was more than likely at Aldi’s hustlin’ for some extra money. Baby Sis and Baby Brother were the youngest siblings, and they were outside playing. I went to my room and cried. I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m going to end it.

I searched the house for anything that I could find. Cutting my wrist wasn’t an option because I had a low tolerance for pain. There were no guns in the house. I searched the house high and low for something that would get the job done. I found some pills. I found the solution. We had this metal cup that was tall like a fancy beer glass. I loved that cup because it was really pretty. Perfect cup to use to end this misery of a life that I have. The pills were capsules, so this would be a lot easier than I thought. I just have to open them up and pour them in the water and stir. It would be like making a special cup of Kool-Aid. I took every pill that was in the bottle and strategically opened each one pouring it into this cold cup of water. I stirred it forever to make sure my concoction would be just right. I got up and locked the door. I didn’t want anyone to interrupt me nor want them to find me in enough time to help me. I sat in the middle of my bedroom floor and began to cry. I started to drink the poison as I thought about the day and my life and why I was here. I couldn’t believe that any person deserved to live as I was living. I drank some more. Three strong gulps went down hard. It was a bitter taste, but I didn’t care. The pain I was feeling was way worse, so drink this shit. I cried some more. I thought about what had happened in school today and cried harder. This time, I drank even more because I knew the torture from those people would never stop. I was committing suicide.

I felt dizzy. It was happening. It was hot, and I started to sweat. It was cold outside, but I opened the window anyway. I couldn’t breathe a little, so I stuck my head out of the window. I got a little scared as I started to pass out. I couldn’t see straight. All of a sudden, there was darkness. I woke up to Baby Sis shaking me to tell she was hungry. I apparently didn’t shut the door all the way. My head was hurting, and my mouth felt like I had been sucking on cotton balls. It didn’t work. It was morning the next day. I wasn’t dead. I sat up and started crying again, crying because I have got to be the ultimate fucking loser. I can’t even successfully commit suicide.

I can only conclude that it must not have been my time. I became an adult that helped so many youth that I lost count. God had a plan for me. Don’t get me wrong, I still hurt from that shit. I just started forgiving maybe a couple of years ago. Really, after I saw some those fat bitches at a high school reunion twenty years later living loser lives. Sorry, shit was funny to me. Funny because until that very moment, I had imagined because of who they were in high school was who they were now. Life happened to their asses too, and some of them were suffering that karma because of the people they were. With that being said, I live life. That’s not to say that I didn’t ever think about suicide again. I am just strong enough not to try it and push through, so that’s what I do. I push through.