The voice

This is a story about a girl (could be the other way around) who has a horrible problem. A voice that talks to her. It tells her to kill herself and she attempts it. But she realizes that suicide isn't the answer. She also learns that she isn't a freak, and lots of other people have these problems too.

* Sorry. Had to put it in Mature Content due to this story being about suicide ;-;

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1. The voice was there... Always... Permanently.

The song my story is inspired by is: Paradise Lost by Hollywood Undead <3

 

 

The voice

It lingered in my head. That voice. That same horrible voice I hear everyday of my life. “Just do it,” it says. “It won’t hurt, I promise. Would I ever lie to you?” But as a matter of fact, it would lie to me. I had such a temptation to just give in. But if I was ever caught… I would be sent away. Councilors coming to my cell-asking if I wanted more cheerios. Scheduling special appointments to talk about my “problems.” Putting foam on my hands so I couldn’t harm myself. I wasn’t about to put up with that… But it was so convincing. I had myself thinking some days that maybe I should just do it. I talked to my friends who suffered most of the same stuff I did: Depression, ADHD, and Bipolar. Basically a bunch of sad, hyper people who don’t pay attention and get mad easily… They said the same thing was happening to them. Most of them gave in though and told me they felt better. It made me want to try it even more. They talked just like the voice I always heard in my head. I went home that night thinking. Just sank into my bed, and thought. Thought about life. Thought about family, friends. Thought about how I was going to be home alone that night. I went into the bathroom to find razors and popped one out. I held it in my hand for about 5 minuets and turned on my favorite song… “Paradise Lost” by Hollywood Undead. It comforted me. Something about this whole suicide thing made me feel safe inside. Made me feel better, knowing I had a way out. The voice came back. “That’s it. Just touch your skin to the blade.” And I did. Something about the way the shiny, cold metal touched my skin, made me feel better. “Put some force on it, and cut… Just miss the veins… For now.” I began to cut. It gave me a rush. Red ran down my arm and covered the floor, sink, and by now it was all over my clothing. Then it started laughing. Just laughing at the fact that I gave in. But I couldn’t stop. Something about the feeling gave me a rush. I needed more relief. So I began to cut some more. By the time I was done, I counted 7. 7 Perfect cuts along my smooth, now bloody skin. I felt better. I felt relieved and felt like I could do anything… Like jump off my roof face first… And live. “All in good time,” it spoke. “Soon enough you’ll be invincible.” It laughed and laughed its horrible laugh for one last time and then, I think it had more people to talk to because it just left. Like a typical man, it got what it wanted, and left. I had to be used to that by now. I always had guys say they love me, cared about me, and wanted to be with me forever. And then the next day I hear, “Did you hear what your “boyfriend” did? He was at the docks with another girl sweet talking her and then kissing her.” I would always ignore it and never believe it until they came up to me and said something like “Well this isn’t working out” or  “I’ve been really stressed and I can’t handle a relationship right now.” Then the next day, they would be with another girl. I always felt like nothing. It’s not like it’s only happened once or twice. It’s happened 4 times. I think all the boys set this up and try to act like it’s funny because it happens to my friends too. The music I listened to impacted my life a lot. My favorite song was “Paradise Lost.” It helped me cope with my anger and it soothed me. I think the music is what helped me get through life. The song was mostly about suicide and that made me feel better that I wasn’t the only one out there who was in the act. What really messed me up is when this all happened. We were in an old abandoned house and some of my friends got the great idea to try and talk to ghosts. We sat there with our Ouija board and listened. We heard cackles of demon’s and horrible screams coming from the distance. Something tapped me on the shoulder and ever since then, I had seemed to be followed by this thing. It talked to me. Told me about how I had an escape. How I would never have to be where I wasn’t wanted because everyone wanted me down in the underworld. Then he laughed. That horrible laugh was always in my mind. I could sense that everything he was telling me was a lie but I listened anyways. After that night in the bathroom, I couldn’t stop. Every Friday when my parents would go out, I would walk in the bathroom and do the same thing. Every time I did the demon got louder and louder until one day, it stopped. I started moving down to my legs when my arms got full. I was sucked into the trap. It didn’t even have to convince me. It was now a weekly routine. I wasn’t proud of it but I had to do it to keep on going. It made me feel better and every time I did it I felt even more invincible. Every time I cut myself, I turned the song on. And sang along. “Just let me burn, it’s what I deserve.” Those words had always had a huge impact on me. One day, the demon came back. “Lets do it again.” “No,” I spoke. “But why not?” “My parents are home.” “Well it’s not like they can hear you. Please?” I walked into the bathroom and it started laughing again. My scars had healed for the most part on my arm so I went back to doing that. I moved down to my forearm with the razor but the demon stopped me. “What are you doing?” It asked in confusion. “Cutting. Like you want me to.” “Yes, but not there,” it said. So I started moving up and up, asking if it was an okay spot. “Your veins… Cut your veins.” I moved up even farther. “Are you sure this is safe?” “Yes, I’m positive!” It cackled. So I cut. The pain was so intense I almost couldn’t take it. I screamed. I heard the demons whispering and screaming in my ear. I could hear running up the steps. It was my mother. I dropped the razor as she walked in. Blood was covering the floor. When she walked in she didn’t even know what to say. She grabbed her phone and me and rushed to the hospital. I passed out on the way there. When I woke up I had an IV in my arm and a wrap around the other one. When the nurse came in, she told me it was very hard to get the bleeding to stop. The blood was still seeping through the bandage. “I grabbed this on the way out,” my mother spoke. It was my phone, and my ear buds. I took it from her and instantly went to my music, turned on my favorite song, and sat back. I had tons of texts. Asking where I was, why I wasn’t in school and, I told them the truth. I had tried to kill myself. I told everyone the whole story. Most thought I was crazy but others, understood. I didn’t feel like a freak anymore. Some told me their stories, about similar problems that I was having. It was good knowing that I wasn’t the only one out there and that they weren’t just my “wanna-be Goth” friends. Lots of people had suicidal problems, and listened to the music I did. I now had a new crowd to follow. Recovering suicide victims.  

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