The Writers Voice
The World's
Favourite Literary Website
Unforgettable Night
by
Heidi Yang
What was I doing here? What had possessed me to do this in the first place? The
thoughts running through my head were both mine and not mine at all. I was
standing in the middle of my dad's kitchen holding a butcher knife contemplating
death. I know, most people would call me insane for wanting to end my own life.
Who knows maybe I was. Obviously I did not succeed otherwise I wouldn't be
sitting here today. To be precise I didn't even attempt anything, not really.
Sure, I had the tools and the mindset. What depressed girl with access to sharp
objects wouldn't take the opportunity to do such a thing? Okay so that's a bit
of my morbid humor coming out there, but seriously can you blame for trying?
What led to this idea was my realization as a sophomore in high school that soon
all my upper class men friends would soon graduate and then I would be left
without them. A bit of an exaggeration I know, but hey I was a teenager give me
a break. All of us remember being young, hormonal and having thoughts like 'if
Tim dumps me I'm just going to die!' This was how I was feeling except that I
had not just been dumped. Instead I wondered what I was going to do without any
my close friends, especially my friend Zac. Granted, I did have a crush on him
at one time but that's another story for another time. We were still close
nonetheless and I couldn't imagine my life without one of my best friends. I was
predisposed to become easily depressed anyway, as I may have mentioned earlier,
not being able to sleep and watching a depressing music video didn't help
matters. Hence, my standing in the kitchen with a knife ready to put it into my
chest. Yet something stopped me from doing it. I know that sounds incredibly
cliché but it's true. In the end it was a voice and angel that stopped me from
ending my life. Sounds like a normal suicide redemption story, right? It is, but
I figured it would be more interesting for me to write about this than another
summer vacation or the time I got stuck in a snowstorm. At any rate I suppose
more details are warranted. I couldn't kill myself because my mind kept going
back to a conversation I had with Zac earlier that day, or was that week? We
were talking about something that had happened earlier that year. I wrote a
letter to him and he got scared that I was suicidal and took it to the
counselor's office. At that time I had no intention of doing something so
horrible. On that particular day I told Zac, “you know I would never hurt you
like that?”
“I know that now.” he replied.
“Good.” I said with a smile.
I kept coming back to that conversation. In a way I felt like I made my friend a
promise that day. If I went through with this then I was breaking that promise.
I also happened to be wearing a necklace with a little orange angel on it. At
one point in my ruminations my necklace caught the light just right which made
me put the knife down. I began to realize just how crazy this idea was. Suddenly
I knew that if I managed to do this awful deed, that Zac would be hurting. He
would have to deal with my death and he would be sad and heartbroken. The thing
that really got to me, was that he might consider doing the same thing. Of
course his personality was a happy, outgoing one so I don't think he would have
actually done something like that. But it was that sudden realization that made
me stop what I was doing. I put the knife down and took a few deep breaths. Then
the knife spun around and dropped on the floor causing me to scream. This made
my dad ask if I was okay. I told him I was and picked up the instrument of my
torture. I put it safely back in knife rack and got ready to go to bed. In a
matter of minutes I was sound asleep and gave no further thought to my own
attempt on my life.
When I woke up the next day I went to school as normal and didn't even tell
anyone about what happened until my mom and I were driving home. She didn't act
terribly startled or even all that surprised. Our family was used to going
therapists, my mom went to one every week and I went when I was younger. She
just said I would have to go yet another therapist to see what had caused this
and if I was really okay. When she heard I hadn't told my dad what happened she
quickly relayed it to him. He was horrified of course, especially since he was
in the next room watching TV. He had no idea what was going on in the next room,
and certainly did not think his teenage daughter was on the verge of ending her
own life. For quite awhile after that we were wary of each other. He didn't know
what to say and I didn't either. Eventually things returned to normal and I felt
less depressed. Then again that seems to be how all these type of stories end.
Most people would tuck such an event deep into themselves and not talk about it.
Let alone write about it for a non-fiction writing class. I did that for awhile,
but figured that telling people the shorthand version and writing about it for
myself wouldn't hurt anything. Oddly enough I was right. Other than that night
being interesting to write and to hear about, it changed my life. I have never
forgotten how close I came to dying that night, or at least ending up in the
hospital with a bad chest wound. I can only hope others learn from my story and
those around them can see these people as normal human beings. I didn't need to
be coddled or sympathized with, I didn't want to hear that I was crazy, or what
I had done was stupid. I already knew all that was true. What I wanted was for
things to be normal and for my friends and family to treat me as such. I wanted
to share my story with others and to hear their reactions. I guess that is what
I'm doing now and I'm glad I did.
1/31/08
Critique this work
Click on the book to leave a comment about this work
