Please Don’t Kill Yourself
“You’re not dead,” I whispered in disbelief. Don’t kill yourself! “But how is it possible?” My mind wrestled back and forth trying to make sense of how you could possibly be standing in front of me. Then I didn’t care how you got here, only that you were here. I ran to you and threw my arms around your neck, holding you tightly, and tighter still.
“You didn’t kill yourself! It’s not too late. Why did I think you had killed yourself?” I said all these things out loud, not sure if I was talking to you or trying to reason with myself.
“Is this a dream?” I wondered. “Or is this real and you dying was a dream? — I don’t know which one is true. but please don’t kill yourself!” I cradled my head between my hands trying to force my mind to think clearly.
“I’m real. I haven’t done it yet.” You looked at me so sincerely and I believed you.
“No, you can’t do it Andres. Please don’t kill yourself!” My mind had decided that this wasn’t a dream, this was real; there was still time, I could still save you. I clutched your arm, determined to never let you go; never leave your side again, never let the nightmare play out as I had dreamt. Yet as happy as I was to see you I felt confused, my mind in chaos as if it were flipping back and forth between alternate realities. I couldn’t figure out why I felt such searing pain deep in my heart, as if you had already died. But you didn’t die, because you were in front of me now. Alive.
“This is what’s true, everything else was only a terrible dream.” I told myself.
“I dreamt you had killed yourself,” I said painfully. “I buried you. It was so real and it was so awful.” I looked at the side of your head searching for some evidence of a self-inflicted gunshot wound, but there was nothing.
“You can’t do it Andres, please don’t kill yourself.” I pleaded over and over again as I buried my face into your chest.
“I can still feel it right here,” I pressed my hand against my chest. “I still feel this heaviness in my heart. I have never dreamt something so real.”
You wrapped your arms around me and kissed me and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do it.” A wave of relief washed over me, sweeping away all the doubt and confusion that still lingered in my mind, and in that moment I was undoubtedly convinced that you were really here.
Mind began to shake again, or was it the walls of this room?
“You didn’t die. You’re not going to kill yourself.” I told myself over and over again trying to push back that sinking feeling in my stomach that kept creeping in and threatening my reality.
“Why do I still feel this pain and sadness? As if it’s already happened…but it hasn’t.” I said firmly trying to further convince myself.
But where was here? I looked around at my surroundings: a bare, dimly lit, and unfamiliar room covered in aged wallpaper that was peeling off the walls. I had been so elated to see you that I hadn’t even thought once of where we actually were. I didn’t know this place, I couldn’t remember how I got here. The panic began to set it.
“This isn’t real. This is the dream again.” I whispered to you.
My belief began to crumble like an old building at the mercy of a massive earthquake. The cracks of reality tore through my mind, swallowing up the happiness I had felt moments ago and separating me from all hope that you were still alive. I awoke in my dark, familiar room feeling as though I were buried underneath the rubble of grief all over again. I was crushed. You were gone. This was my reality.
I’ve had this dream a hundred times. A cruel joke my subconscious plays on me, and I fall for it every time. Because there will always be a part of me that will never give up on you. Like Sisyphus, who was condemned to roll a giant boulder up a hill only to watch it fall back down when it nears the top, repeating this action for all of eternity; so am I in my dreams, always trying to save you, but never able to. Condemned to lose you over and over and over again.