Reaching the End

The Act: Blaire's POV

I wonder why I'm still here. Nowhere is safe. I take a shaky breath, and I know that it's time. Today is the day that I die. I'm home by myself. Nobody will be here to stop me. The voices in my head are shouting at me to get it over with. I can't believe a fat, ugly person like me has lived this long.
     There's no need for me to write a letter. I have no time, or patience. I'm setting up my camera and tripod now. I sit down on the chair I'll soon be standing on. I wring my hands and exhale deeply. I press record. I look up with teary eyes.
"I want you to know, that this isn't your fault." I take another shaky breath, and swallow a sob. "I just can't keep fighting. I'm not strong enough anymore. I don't deserve to be here; I don't deserve to waste your time." The tears start falling. "I am so sorry. I don't know what I'm sorry for but I am so sorry. Tell my siblings I went to heaven. Tell them I'm happy." I pause to run my hands through my hair, "I never thought it would end this way. I never wanted you to find me like this. I love all of you so much. But this is goodbye." I give a tear-filled smile, and stop recording.
     I turn to my bottle of sertraline, and stare at it for a long time before emptying it's contents in my palm, and swallow them all with alcohol that burns in my mouth. I grab my razor, and begin to cut away at my wrists. My thighs. My hips. My stomach. I'm so numb; every part of me is diced into ribbons but I feel nothing. I hear the ever so soft drip drip drip of my blood draining to the floor. I feel the fatigue start to set in from the pills.
     I need to hurry. I bring my chair under the noose I've tied to the bar in my closet. I step up. I pray to a god I at first did not believe in that I will be forgiven for destroying the temple that is my body, and for smothering the flame of my breath. I drape the necklace of death around my neck and clench my teeth, refusing to scream. With my eyes shut so tight that stars dance behind my eyelids, I step off of the chair.
     Fire. Fire is all I can feel on my throat. I feel a snap as my trachea collapses in on itself. There's a heavy warmth gathering in my lungs; they must be filling with blood. I gasp for oxygen I know I won't get, and my feet flail frantically below me. The fire travels into my head and down into my chest. My pulse thuds louder than a chorus of drums in my ears. Hot tears roll down my cheeks as I regret what I have done. It's so painful. I don't want to go. But my feet can't reach the chair, or the ground. I feel an icy static creep into my toes and fingertips; it's so cold. Slowly it travels up my limbs into my core. My diaphragm shakes as I cough a torrent of blood onto the floor. I can't feel or hear my heartbeat anymore, instead I hear the agonized shrieks of my mother as I fade from existence.