Depression in Society

I am trying so hard to conceal my feelings, but it is so hard, I can feel cracks starting to show.


3. Chapter 3

As I sit with the icy water streaming down my face, I begin to wonder what life will be like without Chris. He was my everything, he still is my everything. My phone keeps ringing but I don’t answer, I know who it will be and what they will say. “Oh, Absidy I heard the bad news, i'm so sorry…” I just want to be alone don’t they get it. I can see the razor lying there. It’s so tempting. I try so hard to resist, but the temptation is too strong. I grab the razor and start to cut my arms, legs and anything that I know will hurt. It hurts like a bitch but i’m addicted to the pain, I just can’t stop. The colour of the blood dripping from my arms brings back vivid memories of last week. The walls, floors and bed sheets are still stained with blood, I can’t bring myself to clean them. I don’t know if I should call the police or not. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. No I can’t, I won’t.


Knock, Knock, knock


Why is there someone at the door. What do they want?


“I don’t buy girl scout cookies, raffle tickets or donate to stupid religious charities” I yell as I walk to the door.

“Open, it’s the Police” Oh it’s just the police. Wait it’s tHE POLICE.

I open the door with blood dripping from my arms and shaking hands.

“We are here to talk to Chris Owens,” they explain, their eyes wandering up and down my arms.

“He’s dead,”

“Oh, well in that case we would like to ask you some questions about his death then,”

“I don’t know if I am in the best state to be questioned at the moment,” I tell them

“We can see that, but it the law so you will have to cooperate with us on this one,”

“Okay, what do you want to know?’ I ask them as they barge through my front door.


They make it about a metre inside before stopping in horror. Their jaws are on the ground, and their eyes are bulging from their head.

“What happened here?” they asked in horror

“Chris cut himself spread his blood everywhere and then hung himself. All I have left of him is this note,” I said as I handed them the note Chris left me. There was a certain edge to my voice that i hoped they would pick up on and take the hint that I do not want them here.


As they read the note they ask questions about what it all means but I can't give them answers. They try to get me to tell them but I can't , because I don't even know the answers myself.

"Why did he commit suicide?"

"No idea,"


"Did he show any signs of depression before the incident?"



"What time did the accident occur?"

"Who knows, I found his body at around 6:50 am, but who knows when he killed himself?"


So many questions, so few real answers.

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