Yesterday I wanted to end it all.
The pain, the aching, the suffering, the longing
I wanted to let the foot that had been holding down my chest finally rob me of my power to breathe.
And then I heard Beyonce playing underneath me, which, funnily enough, is similar to what I had imagined heaven to be like. Her words were not soothing but irritating, for those damn catchy songs would not allow me to sleep. As much as I wanted to lie down and die they would not let me, they wanted me to dance and they wanted me to sing. And somewhere amongst the obnoxious melodies that burned through my brain, I relocated the beat of my own heart.
I kicked off the foot on my chest and turned on the TV; where anarchy and peace came together in a beautifully produced piece of news narrative. The story they performed gave me a headache and my eyes hurt to open. I closed the book I had been reading from since I was born.
You write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise
In my awoken dreams I realised I had been lying where I should have been rising; to see beyond the end of my own broken fingertips; to end our pain, our suffering, our longing.
I wanted to make a difference in the world that I felt too scared to live in. But I cannot do that if I am not here.