team or the latest movie.
My parents don’t understand how hard it is for me to have her as a sister. People talk about me, making it that much more difficult for me to fit in, but I manage. Under normal circumstances, I’d choose Hannah before anyone, but with homecoming coming up, it’d be social suicide.
Reluctantly, I get off my bed and shuffle my feet toward Hannah’s bedroom. I yawn at my dad, who I meet at the door before we go in together. Confused, we look at each other before my dad walks to my mom who is holding Hannah in her arms, sobbing hysterically. I lean on her tidy desk and pick up a piece of paper that I quickly drop on a silent scream after reading half of it.
My throat constricts when I look over at my sister, only partially understanding why she is lying too still on her bed, and why my mom is weeping over her lifeless body, and why my father is yelling for help into the phone.
I quietly leave the room, taking her letter with me so I can fully digest it, but instead of reading it right away, I hide it in the back of my closet, not quite ready to face the ugly truth. I can’t believe she did this to herself. To us.
My sister is dead. She ended her life while I daydreamed about my boyfriend, Garrett. All while I’d called her selfish.
The days after her death merge into one, while I try to come to grips with the fact that I’ll never see Hannah again. I’ll never get the chance to tell her I love her. I love her as much as she loved me, but I was too stupid to show it or say it. Instead, I pushed her away as if she were nothing but an annoyance in my life. There’s no defense against my actions nor is there a resolution for her sudden departure.
Life keeps moving forward although I am no longer an active participant. My body is nothing more than a crumpled mess that begs my sister for her forgiveness while my parents try to sort out their own life. My nights are endless as I lie awake holding an open dialogue with a ghost that won’t respond to me, while my days are spent lying in bed, hating my sister for punishing me. I deserve the sobs that wrack my body because no matter what her letter tells me, I am responsible. I obsess over every detail of our lives together and know that I was the only one who could have saved her, but I failed her.
All that surrounds me is noise, white noise that leaves me gasping for air as my parents try to find their footing. Breathing is a task so hurtful, I’d prefer it if my own lungs and heart would quit working.
Alone, I listen to saved voicemails from her over and over again just to hear her voice. The day my parents deactivate her number, leaving me unable to call her phone to listen to Hannah say her name, is the day I contemplate taking my own life.
I call my best friend, convinced I no longer deserve even an ounce of happiness, and she hurries to my side to help me cross my bridge of despair. Only, she doesn’t feel my pain. Her world hasn’t stopped turning. She can’t hear me scream or see the battle raging inside of me. Her sympathy isn’t just fleeting, but at a point where it is nonexistent.
She doesn’t just think I should move on, as if moving on were an option after only three weeks, but she’s pushing me forward, uncaring of the fact that I simply can’t move at all. Not when the wrong that keeps me up at night haunts me every time my heart beats.
So I lie to her. Every day I lie to her and make excuses for my weight loss and resort to self-destructive behavior no one sees but me. Desperation balances the pain, justifying every harmful act I bestow upon myself.
I shake my head, clearing it of the memory that never really leaves me at peace. I’d never spoken to anyone but doctors about Hayley’s death and it is surprising to find that I can not only confide in Max, but I yearn to tell him more.
“When we met,” I continue, “I was learning how to refocus my energy into something more positive, like starving children around
My parents don’t understand how hard it is for me to have her as a sister. People talk about me, making it that much more difficult for me to fit in, but I manage. Under normal circumstances, I’d choose Hannah before anyone, but with homecoming coming up, it’d be social suicide.
Reluctantly, I get off my bed and shuffle my feet toward Hannah’s bedroom. I yawn at my dad, who I meet at the door before we go in together. Confused, we look at each other before my dad walks to my mom who is holding Hannah in her arms, sobbing hysterically. I lean on her tidy desk and pick up a piece of paper that I quickly drop on a silent scream after reading half of it.
My throat constricts when I look over at my sister, only partially understanding why she is lying too still on her bed, and why my mom is weeping over her lifeless body, and why my father is yelling for help into the phone.
I quietly leave the room, taking her letter with me so I can fully digest it, but instead of reading it right away, I hide it in the back of my closet, not quite ready to face the ugly truth. I can’t believe she did this to herself. To us.
My sister is dead. She ended her life while I daydreamed about my boyfriend, Garrett. All while I’d called her selfish.
The days after her death merge into one, while I try to come to grips with the fact that I’ll never see Hannah again. I’ll never get the chance to tell her I love her. I love her as much as she loved me, but I was too stupid to show it or say it. Instead, I pushed her away as if she were nothing but an annoyance in my life. There’s no defense against my actions nor is there a resolution for her sudden departure.
Life keeps moving forward although I am no longer an active participant. My body is nothing more than a crumpled mess that begs my sister for her forgiveness while my parents try to sort out their own life. My nights are endless as I lie awake holding an open dialogue with a ghost that won’t respond to me, while my days are spent lying in bed, hating my sister for punishing me. I deserve the sobs that wrack my body because no matter what her letter tells me, I am responsible. I obsess over every detail of our lives together and know that I was the only one who could have saved her, but I failed her.
All that surrounds me is noise, white noise that leaves me gasping for air as my parents try to find their footing. Breathing is a task so hurtful, I’d prefer it if my own lungs and heart would quit working.
Alone, I listen to saved voicemails from her over and over again just to hear her voice. The day my parents deactivate her number, leaving me unable to call her phone to listen to Hannah say her name, is the day I contemplate taking my own life.
I call my best friend, convinced I no longer deserve even an ounce of happiness, and she hurries to my side to help me cross my bridge of despair. Only, she doesn’t feel my pain. Her world hasn’t stopped turning. She can’t hear me scream or see the battle raging inside of me. Her sympathy isn’t just fleeting, but at a point where it is nonexistent.
She doesn’t just think I should move on, as if moving on were an option after only three weeks, but she’s pushing me forward, uncaring of the fact that I simply can’t move at all. Not when the wrong that keeps me up at night haunts me every time my heart beats.
So I lie to her. Every day I lie to her and make excuses for my weight loss and resort to self-destructive behavior no one sees but me. Desperation balances the pain, justifying every harmful act I bestow upon myself.
I shake my head, clearing it of the memory that never really leaves me at peace. I’d never spoken to anyone but doctors about Hayley’s death and it is surprising to find that I can not only confide in Max, but I yearn to tell him more.
“When we met,” I continue, “I was learning how to refocus my energy into something more positive, like starving children around
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