Do It Right Next Time
- Hannah L
- Sep 11, 2024
- 3 min read
TRIGGER WARNING: Encouraged Suicide
Day Ten
In the shadows of a broken home
A toxic love, a heart turned to stone
Returned to a world of anger and pain
A fiancés rage, a soul in disdain
“Didn’t die,” he spat in wrath
Wishing for an end, a darkened path
Sure ways to end it all, he’d say
His words like knives, cutting the day
Wishing for death, his cruel refrain
No care for the heart, the soul’s deep strain
The air wouldn’t blink, he’d proclaim
A heartless game, a hurtful aim
Sitting me down, a noose to show
A pill to find, a final blow
Taking advantage of a fragile mind
Forcing me into a darkness unkind
In the midst of despair, a light will shine
A strength within, a spirit divine
To break free from the chains that bind
To reclaim the heart, the soul entwined
If you or anyone you know is struggling with self-harm, please reach out to the crisis text line. You can text #988, or you can follow this link.
My ex-fiancé had a similar reaction to my mother when he saw that I was home. "How the fuck did your retarded ass get out of the hospital?" He was irate. I knew something was coming. He started saying things like, "Why didn't you do it right? Why didn't you just die? Such a fucking waste of space. Sit the fuck down and let me show you how it's done." He proceeded to jump on the couch next to me with a rope. He showed me how to properly tie a noose. He put it around my neck and said, "This is what you do." He then told me how to properly hang the noose from the ceiling. He said he'd watch me and kick the chair away so I couldn't, "Pussy out like the retarded pussy bitch I am." He told me he could get me anything off the street, including pills to help with, "assisted suicide." He also told me his friend, (the same one who was his cocaine dealer) could get me a gun that even the "Biggest retards could use. But you couldn't start the grill right, so you'll probably fail at shooting yourself dead in the head too because you're a retarded child."
Yeah, that's what I came home to. But only the things I did were ever noticed by anyone. By my mother, my "friends," the police, the doctors, his family, everyone. Only the things I did were punished and punishable, but the shit I put up with daily, the beatings, the words, telling me how to kill myself and him aiding me, none of it. None of it ever punished or acknowledged. My mother, either, and neither likely ever will.
This is why victims stay victims. This is why victims have a break in reality and do crazy and shady things. This is why they end up dead, in prison, in psychiatric units, this is why we never get better. Because people don't care about the decades leading up to our behaviors, and our perpetrators are never punished. I mean, how many times was I raped, how many people did I tell? How many times was a man punished and sent to prison? ZERO!
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