Suicide Is Not An Option
"Suicide is not an option"
I hear my therapist say,
She smiles wryly
And I want to scream.
"Suicide is a coward's way out"
She continues,
I do not understand
She thinks this is a fact?
"Suicide is harmful,"
She insists,
"To who?" I ask
"To everyone" she answers
She sounds so confident
She sounds so convinced
She sounds so sure
And her smile is a knowing one,
Knowing of hope and aspirations,
A sense of the future
But I want to slap it off her face
Her eyes are stubborn and unwilling
They know not of hate, fear, pain
They know not of tiredness and resentment
They know not of suicide
"That's cute" I mumble,
She's said to me before,
She says this every time she sees
a new cut on my forearm
"You always say that"
There's pity in her voice
She is tired
She doesn't know anymore
"Suicide is not an option"
She insists.
I am crying now,
I am in pain.
"Do you want to die?"
She asks heavily.
I do not answer.
There is no need.
"My life is not my own"
I mumble.
I hate her.
I hate this.
I hate myself.
"I'll keep my hands off it,"
I comply, unfolding my sleeves.
She gives me a small smile,
Hands me a lollipop.
"You'll get through this,"
She tries to comfort me.
I smile this time,
"Maybe."