Personal Narrative: Drowning

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Blood pools on the floor right underneath my feet. It slowly dribbles down my legs, inch by inch, until it escapes the confines of my body. Travelling from my weak wrists down to my scarred thighs, the bright crimson stains not only the carpet I stand on, but me myself. Sweet relief surrounds my every waking thought. The feeling itself is unpleasant, a sting that settles on the skin on my chest, but damn, it’s my saving grace. Over the years, a subtle numbness consumed every feeling I felt, and now, feelings all together elude me. Years of wrongdoings and sin have finally come around to bite me. Love, hate, anger, sadness are just old friends that deserted me long ago. I have all but forgotten the gentle kiss of love or the passion of the …show more content…
Like I’m travelling to some unknown land, without knowledge of how I’m getting there, who is coming with me, or what happens after. I ache to learn its secrets. Fear, something I haven’t felt in forever, grips my insides, but an inner peace slowly pushes everything away. Suddenly on the floor, my stomach is pressed against the cool porcelain bathtub, and I lose the energy to hold the razor blade so it falls out of my hand. Drowning is how I’d describe it. I try to gasp in a breath, watch the rise and fall of my chest yet nothing seems to satiate the need for oxygen. I keep expecting the light, the light that everyone says they claim to see when they almost die, but I’m left with black dots invading my vision. The body- it’s not even my body anymore, feels vaguely cold, and I am unable to feel the thump of my heart in my ears unlike a few minutes ago. The adrenaline from before is all but gone and my breathing finally slows down to nothing. Total darkness overruns my eyes first, then it invades my thoughts, and then it’s over. And all at once, I’m back and out of my body. A young girl stands in front of me. She has long brown hair that flows down to the small of her back and her eyes are the colors of the stormy ocean. An ebony colored dress hangs from her nearly-emaciated shoulders and surrounds her like a hurricane. Fingers dainty, feet bare, she resembles a crow. She looks at me, looks down to where my dead body lay on the ground, and then back …show more content…
This is my job.” The answer is quick, and brief, but I don’t react quickly enough for her. “Your son will blame himself. He will ask why he couldn’t see the signs, and why he could never seem to get through to you. Your daughter, on the other hand, will not even bother to attend your funeral.” A sharp stab of pain pierces me and causes me double over, but she just keeps going. “Your colleagues will wonder what pushed you over the edge. Your neighbors will gossip about you and your wife, wondering if it was really a suicide. Of course the police will have to look into the case, that is your profession, right?” She progresses without my response.
“Without a suicide note, your wife becomes a suspect. It’s quickly solved, however, when they find your journals under the bed.” “Shut up, shut up!” I shout and I cry, trying to drown out her disgusting words.
“The police department will provide psychological exams for everyone who worked on the case due to the familiarity of it all.” She could go on for years. Waves of sadness and despair wash over me and continue to grow in intensity. “Why?!” I sob, finally able to cry, and asking again. “Why are you telling me all of this?! I know it, I know it God damn it! Don’t you think I know
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