By Onyx Rei
Trigger warning: Mental health & suicide
When I signed up for a storytelling competition in primary school, even though everyone told me not to, I wondered what could possibly go wrong with reciting a random story that had already been drilled into my skull for the past few months. That is, until I got on stage and realised the truth of their words.
Everything went wrong.
My vision blurred in glistening tears, beads of sweat dripped down my temples, and my fingers wouldn’t stop fidgeting with my skirt as I hid behind the useless microphone stand that barely covered half my size. The loud pounding of my heart drowned out the chattering of approximately a thousand students. The grand hall, like a sea of dark ink filled with unfamiliar gazes of watchful eyes, felt unbearable as I stood at the centre of attention. It made me sick to my stomach, almost as if I had been stripped of all my clothes, standing there naked and exposed for public view. Definitely not a pleasant sight, if that were to happen. I couldn’t squeeze a single word out of my throat, only silent choked weeps and sobs. My mind was blank, except for an urgent chant telling me to run away.
And I did, tripping along the way.
That was the only time I’ve stood on stage, embarrassing myself in front of my entire batch of peers. My grandmother, who was my guardian at that time, would hear the never-ending gossip of my shame. She told me I had zero chances of winning due to my timid behaviour and speech problems, nagging how I should have given up before I even stepped foot on the podium. It made me ponder for weeks, “Was the embarrassment worth the attempt to win some stupid piece of shiny, probably fake, plastic gold medal?”
Was it wrong to desire something?
After all, I have never won anything in my entire life. Nor did I desire anything enough to get on my knees and beg. As an immature kid, I wanted that gold medal. Winning that prize meant validating my hidden talents and bringing pride to my family, for once. Despite that, I have since refused to put myself in that position again, due to the intense pressure and lack of social support. That intense yearning faded as I got older. Instead, I was left treading an endless path with no destination or determination. The pain of reality struck me when my mother asked about my future aspirations and plans.
I didn’t know. And I still don’t have the appropriate answer to that question.
Was there something I truly wanted, aside from surrendering to a 9-to-5 office job?
If I were to reflect, life has always been rather lonesome. I was merely a feeble human being trying to fit into standards like everyone else and would do anything to get on everyone’s good side, even if they were complete assholes. So, when my peers picked on me at a young age, I couldn’t comprehend. They pointed out my crooked teeth and how hideous my tight pigtail braids looked. My thick circular-rimmed glasses that resembled Harry Potter’s accentuated what a goody-two-shoes I was.
Once, someone even threatened to push me off the stairs, hoping that a lightning bolt scar would magically appear on my forehead. The only thing I would probably get is a serious concussion.
They would tear my books to shreds and even lock me in the cleaner’s cupboard after PE, until someone noticed I was gone. On some unfortunate occasions, I would be met with an outburst of profanity from boys who seemed to believe I was a walking piñata. Even the people I trusted as friends soon revealed their true intentions, furthering the misery that consumed my life.
This routine continued throughout middle school. I surprisingly made it through in one piece, but again, I was always alone—alone in my thoughts and agony as I returned to my cozy room, until I was dragged out for cram school. I found myself praying for a better day tomorrow, for a better life that would break through the mask I forced myself to wear around others.
However, my pleas went unanswered, and my troubles didn’t fade. The only thing that faded was my faith in my religion. As the days turned to weeks, and months turned to years, this hollow void remained a haunting shadow, tethering itself to my very being and never giving me any respite. I felt as if it was about to crush me under its weight.
Every day was like a struggle that I couldn’t understand this suffocating feeling churning in my core. The air that rushed into my lungs carried a palpable sense of emptiness and uncertainty, a tightening noose gripping my throat and strangling me as I gasped for salvation. The once resonant timbre in my voice now quivered like fragile glass, every word threatening to expose the intricate cracks beneath the surface. The faint whispers that refused to escape from my lips held the unspoken poignant sorrows of a desperate soul. If I could scream, I would, but who would even pay attention to me without showing any judgement?
My loneliness was partly comforted by someone whose name I can’t recall, neither did I remember him telling me his. He seemed like a male to me, a tall figure donned in a dark hood who never showed his true face; he would only speak when necessary, but his warm smile provided a sense of comfort, at the very least.
I was probably hallucinating him. It could be the aftermath of my head getting smashed into an unyielding concrete wall after a rude classmate shoved me. The lenses of my glasses were completely shattered into pieces and strewn across the ground. The remnants of it and my own blood flowing down my head painted a macabre palette of horror. I ignored the sniggering behind me as I resumed picking the shards off the ground with my hands. The cuts on my skin resulted in a numbing pain that coursed through my body. Yet, it failed to cease my intentions to clean up the hallway so no one would trip over the mess; this was nothing compared to the suffering I dealt with daily. Weirdly, this brought a peculiar sense of relief rather than discomfort.
I must have gone insane at this point. Despite that, my friend carried a lantern with a tender yet firm hand, illuminating the abyss of my pandemonium. He never treated me indifferently, instead whispered words of affirmation. He was more humane than any person I had ever encountered. He knew how much sadness my pillow absorbed every night, the feeling of the burdening ache in my chest, the sound of my muted cries. He was quiet but always present, listening to me, and returning whenever I needed someone.
He felt so genuine, like a gift bestowed upon me from heaven. Soon it seemed almost impossible to distinguish between fantasy and reality. In my heart, he was someone I could call a friend, a cherished companion who made life easier to cope with while navigating this bottomless pit. He was my salvation.
But then, he disappeared.
As I got older, it was easy for me to become overwhelmed by a flurry of schoolwork, upcoming exams, extracurricular activities, and household responsibilities. I was so busy that I wasn’t experiencing any depressive episodes, and I hardly even noticed his absence. As the years passed and I made it to high school, this mysterious friend rarely made an appearance. Indeed, the different environment brought new experiences that made it clear I should let go of my past miseries. I thought his disappearance didn’t matter, I didn’t need him anymore and I was finally free from my pain. Yet deep down, I chose to avoid the fact that I was still stranded in an untamed wilderness, sinking in quicksand, deeper into my despair with escape remaining a futile and elusive reverie.
My short-lived happiness took a turn for the worse in 2020, a year when everyone had to shut themselves up to prevent contracting a contagious disease. I was behind closed doors, even with my own family. That’s when my fragile mind completely slipped into a deranged symphony, discordant chords resonating with an unsettling melody. The isolation, uncertainty, and distress of the pandemic amplified my inner turmoil, and the fleeting moments of joy became overshadowed by the relentless cacophony of negative emotions and thoughts that drove me to the brink of my sanity.
It’s so painful. It hurts. Make it stop.
I called, but no one responded. I yelled, but no one heard me. I cried, but there was no one to embrace me in my darkest moments.
So tired… So unceasing… How much longer…
My already meek voice was devoured by an intense wave of tragedy. I was the one losing in this final battle. I felt as if the world had turned its back on me, leaving me to confront my inner demons alone.
I wondered, of all people why me? I had everything fed to me on a silver platter; a house to live in rent-free, delicious warm meals that filled my stomach, and a secure nurturing environment. These blessings only fuelled my confusion as I grappled with my wretched state. I didn’t willingly sign up for any test of sheer will, orchestrated by the universe. Why can’t I be happy? Don’t I deserve to feel it? Why is it so easy for others to celebrate joy while I wait in the wings?
I don’t know his name. I don’t remember his looks, his voice, or even his smile. I don’t even know who he is or where to find him.
Like a kid desperately craving for sweets, I could only beg. Helplessly praying for him to appear and help me ease this pain like he did when I was younger. I once lost faith in praying, but that was all I could do at that moment. So, I pleaded my hardest. No matter how much I yearned to see him again, my friend never showed up.
And so, in my solitude, the figure of my obsession haunted me.
He who made me feel safe. He who acknowledged my imperfections and provided me with a sense of peace. When everyone else failed to rescue me from my nightmares, he became a divine dreamscape that allowed me to evade my brutal reality.
I never feared his grim demeanour. Was it wrong to surrender completely to him, let him put me out of my misery forever?
The blade resting idly on the table called out to me. Its gleaming edges muttering sweet promises, to succumb to its forbidden secrets. The notion of grazing my coarse skin, a simple touch of the smooth blade against mine.
I’m caught in a daring dance, a bittersweet tango where the boundary between pleasure and anguish blurs, leaving behind a trail of both scars and liberation. Every movement felt heavy. The ground is littered with rose thorns, the string of their pricks mingling with the softness of their petals.
Will I reunite with him for eternity? I pondered the question, hoping he would miraculously turn up and guide me through this insufferable feeling. My breath was held in anticipation with every passing second, each heartbeat echoing as I contemplated. But no one, not even death was there to give me a definite answer.
I will decide for myself, if he won’t tell me what to do.
I had longed for this moment, but deep down I couldn’t completely succumb to this intoxicating tune. No matter how irresistible it was, an unexplainable hesitancy held me back, a part of me unwilling to submit to the enchanting rhythm. I knew who that ambiguous character was, I knew he didn’t belong to me from the very beginning; he was there to make life bearable for me, and he did. But when I needed him the most, he refused to respond. I hated that.
Frankly speaking, I was afraid; afraid to leave everything behind, to imagine the devastating looks of the people I cared about, of what I might regret for my selfish reasoning. How sickening it was to feel empathy at a hopeless time like this.
In the end, I made peace with the temptation and chose to live with the inevitable chaos. The consequences of my mental state in the distant future didn’t matter, but I knew my journey was far from over and there was no way I was going to cut this story with such an abrupt end.
It’s been four years since I came so close to leaving this life, but I still remember the helpless feeling of being trapped in an endless loop of self-destructive patterns; the constant urge to escape reality and numb the pain, silencing it once and for all.
To answer the question, was there something I truly wanted? Yes, to put it bluntly, I wanted to die. I wanted the friend who I confided in for years to take my life away. At times, I could sense his shadowy presence, inviting and reassuring, almost welcoming himself back into my downward spiral. I had to acknowledge that his companionship alleviated me from the weariness of mere survival.
Maybe not soon, but he’ll fulfil my wishes when the right moment arrives. Until then, I’ll continue living, and he’ll remain a part of my life, etched in my memories, intertwined with the essence of my soul as my greatest desire, my lifelong companion. For the first time in my life of not winning anything, I could say that I have won this round. For now.
Onyx is a QUT student from Malaysia, majoring in creative and professional writing. They enjoy reading romance books (with angst) and are currently reading ‘The Husky and His White Cat Shizun’. Onyx is either scrolling for dramas, daydreaming a new story idea, or hunting for price-dropped Tim Tams at Woolies. If the universe is kind enough, Onyx desires to reunite with their bestie soon and live in a cozy place together with their bunnies, Zhanzhan and Xianxian.
