The Last Time. Perhaps it was the final time you ever did something. Or perhaps it was just the most recent time you did it. Perhaps still, it will be the last time. Either way, it is the last time... Fiction or non-fiction, poetry or Prose.

There is Always Room for Growth

I haven't found freedom in the acknowledgement of my own eventual death. It is still a weight that pulls me down and reminds me of hours, days, weeks, and months culminating into years where I could not leave my bed.

I did not expect perfection, or for nothing to hurt ever again. I was not trying to take my life for granted; I did not mean to push away people I love.

My mother asked "What happened to you? You weren't scared of anything growing up."

I stayed on the edges of groups and friends because getting to know someone was easy. I'm a good listener. If I gave advice or laughed at their silly stories I was helping. If I was careful with my words I would never have to share anything too personal.

"I learned how to lie." I told my mother while we sat on the couch. "Maybe I didn't notice every time i did it. But I spoke well, was polite, could make jokes. I did the bare minimum for socializing."

At 12 my minister asked me and a group of friends who was the person we trusted the most. A best friend, a grandmother, an aunt, a father. I had no answer.

I compartmentalized everything. I never needed the world to be perfect. I had to be, so I could leave the world and my loved ones better than I found them.

"You used to stand up to the jerks." My mother said in a tired voice. "Now you're just sitting here, wallowing. I don't want to make you upset, but, I hate watching you do this to yourself."

Death is something I ran to because I did not love myself enough to stay. I never doubted that others would mourn and miss me. But, my mind was sick enough to believe that I was not worth fighting for.

"Sometimes I hate that I'm still alive. Healing is hard. I know it's good. I've done more in the past year and a half, in the last six months, than I have since high school. I'm proud of that. I know I've been having bad days."

She took my hand and squeezed. "We're so happy you're around. We're happy you're at the house. I just want more for you."

If I hold myself perfectly still. If I always answer "Yes, okay, I'm fine, that's good." I won't have to think. I won't have to change. I won't get hurt. I'll just stop, and then maybe this irrational fear will go away.

Emotions are never that simple. I could spend days looking back on all the missed oppurtunities and people i never got to know. But that won't solve anything. I'd just be hiding in the guilt, punishing myself for things no one else has ever criticized me for.

I can be my own worst enemy. I trap myself in the What If, in the COuld Have, SHould Have, WOuld Have, all the time. It's not doing anyone any good.

There will never be a last fall. There will never be a time where I am free from doubts and insecurity. But, there may be a time when death isn't something wrapped in the memories of pills, alcohol, and cuts on my hands.

"I'm trying." I told my mother. "I promise I am trying, and thank you for letting me do that in a safe place. I can't be that kid again, but hopefully one day I'll be a good adult."

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