the morning after i killed myself- after meggie royer

tw: suicide

the morning after i killed myself i made my bed for the first time in weeks. i stacked up all my lamotrigine and tossed it in the trash. i waited for my sister to wake up. took down the polaroids and the lights. put a blanket on my cat. the morning after i killed myself i wrote a poem about the ghost in my hometown. i wrote about the blue walls and my uncle's voice at the dinner table and how the chicken back at home tasted. i stood in a corner as they cleaned the room to remove traces. i watched as my sister picked up the blades from the floor. as my cats puckered up at the sight of the body. watched as they went through several different versions of the note. and how all of them ended with the same desperate pleading.

the morning after i killed myself i fell in love. not with the brown eyed boy from my hometown or the boy with the guitar and large spectacles. i fell in love with my sister's hair as she picked up all the books from the floor and read every highlighted line. hoping to find an answer to the heavy question. or something that could just be comforting enough to lessen the pain. i fell in love with my cat's nose as she smelled around the bed and spoke to the frozen body. i fell in love with the way the light reflected on the amethyst chain around my neck. with my uncle's fingers as he scrolled through photos of me growing up in his house. with my own hair that i dyed again and again with fiery shades of red, but will now burn brighter than they ever did in my room.

the morning after i killed myself i tasted my sister's leftover egg curry and the gooseberries rotting in my fridge. i saw the neighbour's dog and the children playing downstairs as i remember the names i planned for when i have kids myself. i saw my cats hiding behind the blue curtains in my sister's room as strangers flooded through the house to have a look at death. the morning after i killed myself, i watched the world spin without me. watched the sun rise, the way it always does, indifferent to the weight i couldn't carry.

the morning after i killed myself i went to find god and asked her to rewind the last twenty hours and forgive me. i explained how i was never an atheist. i went back to the crematory and watched the body burn. went back to the house and tried to break the ceiling. cleared the blades and hid them in shelves and novels and boxes of perfume. tore down the suicide note. forced my eyes shut. anything. anything to go back to the night when i didn't give in.

the morning after i killed myself i regretted the knot. hated how the room looked as i stood on top of the chair. the oxygen lessening. the morning after i killed myself i tried to undo it. watched them pack my life away in boxes in a truck, that will someday be older than i'll ever be. the morning after i killed myself i tried to unkill myself. but the morning was too short, and i couldn't undo the night.

nibir/change the prophecy