it was dark in the room, emotionally tense. i don’t remember being able to see her face, but i might not have been looking. even now, i tend to avoid people’s eyes. she asked me why.

a week prior i was writing, just as i am now. it was on a few sheets of notebook paper. whenever i’ve written, it’s been too emotional, never succinct. i write like i’m about to die, even now.

this dark room had one little dim lamp in the opposite corner of the bed we were sitting on. i kept staring at it as she cried. she asked me a question, but i doubt she was really looking for an answer.

when i was done writing, i folded all my little papers and put them on my piano. i spent so much of my life teaching myself to play. i still do.

she had already come to a conclusion. at the time i didn’t realize that. i didn’t understand that’s why she was crying.

when everything was in place, i walked into the bathroom. i hadn’t exactly planned this far ahead. maybe that’s how i should've known it wasn’t really something i wanted.

i remember the lamp more than i remember her face. sickly orange light, it felt so distant and yet, far too close. it swam in my own tears, smearing across the darkness.

i didn’t know what would get it done fastest. as much as i’d been fantasizing, i never thought through a real plan. but my mind was made up. i was content with my decision now.

i didn't know how to respond, really. i knew why i did it, i knew the answer to her question. but even now, it was really more of a feeling than a thought. it was a compulsion, from a place that has no language. no words to describe to my crying mother.

i stared in the mirror for a long time, maybe to try and prove this wasn't really what i wanted. or maybe not. maybe even i couldn't change my mind, maybe nothing save for the threat of dying could have shifted my perspective.

her sobs quieted to sniffles. my heart pounded faster than i had ever felt it as i began to explain. it feels like my whole life has already gone by, it seemed like a good time to stop it.

i opened the cabinet. pulled out every bottle i found. swallowed every pill inside them, staring into my own eyes. multiple at a time, all dry, the most frantic i had been all night.

that came out wrong. mom, i just feel more comfortable with death. no, not that. mom, i just felt like i gave it my best shot.

i finished off the pills and wandered to my room, ready to rest. i found one more bottle in there. they were my mom’s. i took a few, but left most of it. i didn't want to inconvenience her.

i kept trying to explain it, but every word i spoke made her cry harder.

i lied down beneath my piano, put in some earbuds. i fell asleep to music of others who had succumbed to my nearby fate.

every word i spoke put distance between myself and the truth. trying to explain it felt like running away from the raw feeling of it all.

i stopped trying to make her understand. i've still not ever tried again.

i woke up several hours later. my body was made of stardust, my limbs like a fawn’s. unstable and delicate. i had chosen my fate. i had no thoughts, just my soul absorbing my body. i chose this. i was on my feet, my wobbly legs pulling me to safety. i chose this. i called for help.

she asked me why. she already expected an answer. she believed i was going to say it was her. i didn't understand why she was crying so hard. i was just trying to explain. she thought i was lying to make her feel better. she didn’t hear me.

her fingers were in my throat, a choir of voices was panicking all around me. i fell in and out of the void.

i didn't tell her this, i didn't know it until years later. but i don't even think i believed i was going to die. i think some part of me was convinced that no matter what i tried, it wouldn't really kill me. and if it did, then i'd get to see more of the universe.

i saw stars, then i saw my mom’s eyes. the closest to god i ever got was the night everyone cared about me more than anyone ever has. more than they ever will again. i woke up in a hospital bed nearly twenty hours later.

i lived. but death, at the time, wasn't a real concept to me. the only thing that made it real was my mom’s tears in that dark room.