Voices |E. Cullen|

TWENTY

TW: Heavy mental health topics (I.e. suicidal ideation, trauma, hallucinations, depression, anxiety, etc.)

It got really bad again. Between the dream of Jason's death, my mother's abandonment, and the additive stress of healing from a chest tube placement, the voices got so much louder. When I had my stress levels under control I was able to control the volume of the voices easier. It was almost like having my own circular knob on a sound system that I could turn left or right depending on what I wanted to deal with. That knob was broken right now. Someone came in and turned it all the way up and then ripped it off the system.

I couldn't concentrate on my school work, any video games, not even music. I threw a hoodie on and slipped out of the house. My sneakers squished the mud beside the driveway and the rain quickly found a way through the fabric that was supposed to protect me. It had never gotten this bad before. My chest felt heavy, it hurt. Not like when my lung popped. It was different. This was the feeling of not being able to breathe because some hundred pound animal is sitting on your chest. This was the feeling that caused systemic tremors and disorganized thoughts. The one that caused your throat to feel like it was swelling shut and your vision to blur and your senses to dull. I continued to walk through the wet leaves that stuck to my shoes and my skin. I couldn't stand this feeling. My medication wasn't working tonight. I'd be lying if I said the thought of wrapping my car around a telephone pole didn't cross my mind several times that day.

I found the edge of a cliff with a river flowing quickly below. My vision became blurry and I stared down at the water rushing over the rocks. It's hard to say how long I stood there. Could have been five minutes, could have been an hour. I didn't really want to jump. I didn't really want to die. That was a hard concept to come to. The pain was unreal. It got harder to breathe, almost like the oxygen was being sucked away from my lungs. Tears made their way down my cheeks and left hot trails behind. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the scene below me. The voices got louder, screaming, crying, pleading. It was too much. I let myself balance on the edge of the cliff. It was hard to convince myself to take a step forward. Like I said, I didn't actually want to die. But my god, I couldn't live with pain like that. I redistributed the weight onto the back of my feet, but I slipped on a tiny pebble. Maybe that was easier than doing it myself. Maybe it would be better as an accident.

A cold grip seized my upper arm and ripped me from the edge of the cliff, I crashed into the wet leaves and mud. It was solid ground and I was still alive and conscious. This time when I sobbed, it was audible. I cried and grasped at the wet leaves under me. I don't know what was more embarrassing; accidentally falling during a suicide attempt or surviving and other people knowing you failed. I never thought of it that way when it came to other people experiencing this. But for some reason when it came to me, I felt weak and pathetic. Why my thoughts and feelings were so different regarding myself versus others, I'll never know.

"Come here," those same cool hands pulled me up and close. "It's okay, darling, you're okay," Esme held me close to her and sat with me on the forest floor. She pet my hair and rocked ever so slightly.

"It hurts so much," is all I could muster up between sobs.

"I know, darling. We're going to get through this. We'll find a way to make it better," she soothed as she stood up with me still in her arms.

I clung to her as if she was the only thing keeping me alive, and she truly may have been. My sobs continued but not for much longer. Soon I felt so exhausted that there was no energy left for anything, not even tears. Esme carried me back to the house and slipped through a side door and up to the room I had been sleeping in. She placed me in bed and laid down next to me.  Her soft, melodic humming acted as an anxiolytic. She stayed with me for the rest of the night, not in a controlling way, but in a caring way. Like how your best friend might hang out with you after you get dumped. Or, really, like how a mother should act when their child is troubled. I then realized that I had always been meant to meet the Cullens. Everything happens for a reason. This may have just been what brought me to realize that. Whether there was supposed to be some romantic tie or not, one thing was apparent. Esme was meant to be the person I called "mom".

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