At the Edge of the Tracks

I couldn’t breathe; I couldn’t get comfortable. I felt as though I were standing on my air supply, letting out just enough air that I couldn’t suffocate, but I couldn’t gulp down the air either. My heart was pounding so fast that I was getting dizzy. My jeans and flowered T-shirt were sticking to my body. There was a blur of hundreds of people talking behind me. Everyone was behind me as I was standing in front of the orange line that people were not supposed to cross for safety reasons. That horrible sound of another subway squealing to a stop on the New York City tracks made me cringe and stick my fingers in my ears to block out the noise. My heart pounded harder. I ran my fingers through my auburn colored ponytail for the millionth time.

I had to do it soon. Over an hour and a half had past since I had first got to the subway station. Every fifteen minutes or so I had climbed a little closer to the edge. By now I was so close that if I sneezed I would topple over into the tracks. It had been months that I had been thinking about this. I knew I had to do it. There were no other options left.

I couldn’t keep living this nightmare of a life. There was that eating disorder that wouldn’t let go of me. Every meal I promised myself I wouldn’t throw up, but after every meal I would find myself hunched over the toilet bowl, retching and vomiting until my head pounded, my throat bled, and the world spun. There were the voices no one else heard, and the White Lady no one else saw. They hung around the edges of my reality, waiting for that time that I would forget to take my medications, or take it too late, and then they would come swooping into my world. They scream at me, hiss at me, and whisper frightening truths in my ear. Sometimes they’d hurt or even kill the people around me. When I tried to warn people about them, they wouldn’t believe me. “Your cousin was very sick,” they’d say. “He had cancer, we all knew he wasn’t going to make it. The White Lady didn’t kill him, she’s not real.” They were the ones who were mistaken, they just didn’t’ understand.

Then there was the fact that I had just turned sixteen and everything in my life was changing. I was ahead in school so I had just graduated and was about to start community college. Everything in my life was pushing me toward an adulthood I didn’t want and wasn’t ready for and I wasn’t going along voluntarily. No, I was being dragged kicking and screaming toward a world I didn’t want.

There were all the concrete reasons why I should just end everything, and then there were those more abstract feelings of just being uncomfortable and unhappy. It seemed like life didn’t really have any point to it. It seemed like all I was ever doing was looking at my watch and waiting for time to pass. Well why should I have to keep waiting for time to pass? Why should I keep just waiting to get old and die? I could easily just speed things up and end it all now.

It was those thoughts that had driven me out of the small apartment I lived in with my mom, dad, and two sisters. It was those thoughts that had driven me down the street. It was those thoughts that had taken me down the stairs and to the edge of the subway tracks. For some reason though, I was having trouble taking the final jump.

I sucked in another gulp of air. It was like breathing in through a thin straw. My hands were shaking so badly I had to stuff them in the pockets of my jeans.

Maybe if I stood there long enough I would wobble so hard that I would fall into the tracks. I took another baby step forward, then another.

“Okay,” I told myself. It’s now or never. I sealed shut my mind. Blocking any fear or worry thoughts out, and I took one last look at my surroundings. Then I steeled myself for the impact and…

“Wait! Don’t do it!” A girl’s voice rose above the murmur of hundreds of people, above the rumbling squeals of subways, and what was most remarkable, above my pounding thoughts.

I wobbled, almost fell past the point of no return, then straightened and looked around. Did someone actually care? The thought was actually kind of frightening. Here I was about to end my life and I was going to leave behind people who cared. I was going to leave behind people who would be hurt beyond belief, people whom would be scarred for life, people who would take years to recover.

Wait a minute. No. I couldn’t let myself get distracted. I had to do this. This was necessary. Once again I steeled myself for the painful but final impact. Once again, I didn’t make it over the edge. A hand clamped down around my wrist.

“I know what you were planning.” The voice attached to the hand said. It was the same girl that had called out to me a few minutes ago.

“Who are you?” I asked her bluntly. I was confused and not sure what else to say. She was an average looking girl that looked to be around my age. She was about a head taller then me (I’m short because I’ve had an eating disorder for so long that it’s stunted my growth) and had chin length brown hair. She was wearing a pair of plain looking jeans, and a blue tank top with little stars on it. Her nose was stubby but cute and her eyes were large and full of worry.

“I saw you standing there and I knew that you were about to jump, and I couldn’t just stand there and watch.” The girl ignored my question and rattled on. Now that she was talking to me my speeding heart was going even faster. I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I felt like a washing machine on the highest spin cycle. My breaths were coming in way too fast. I was hyperventilating. The girl noticed this. She seemed to notice everything.

“Hey, it’s okay. Take a deep breath.” She took the hand that wasn’t clamped around my wrist and rubbed my back gently. “Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth.” She whispered in a soothing tone. Even though she was a complete stranger her hand felt good on my back. I felt cared for and loved. It was oddly comforting.

It was funny because whenever I was upset people were always telling me to take deep breaths and I always ignored them, but this time I listened. I don’t really know why I listened. Maybe it was because she was my age instead of some toady looking shrink, or my drunken mom, or my angry dad. Whatever reason it was I took a few deep breaths and started to feel a little lighter I still felt wobbly and shaky, but I felt a little more real, a little more present.

“Why are you doing this?” The girl asked me.

I told her my long list of reasons.

“You can feel better without dying, you know?” She told me.

“No.” I told her and shook my head sadly. “No I can’t.”

“Yes you can.” She argued.

“No I can’t.” I was getting a little angry now. Who was she to say anything? She didn’t know what my life was like.

“Yes you can.” She had her hands on her hips and was smiling a little.

“I can’t.” I protested again, this time a little more feebly.

“Well, could you at least talk to me a little before you make your decision.”

I agreed seeing that this was one stubborn girl that wasn’t going to give up easily.

The girl told me about how she used to feel the same way as we walked away from the edge of the tracks with my wrist still in her firm grasp.

“My mom kicked me out of the house when she found out that I was doing drugs. I had to go live with my dad and step-mom that basically ignored me. I got desperate. I tried to kill myself. Several times. Then I got help. The first few therapists I met sucked. They were too old, too jerky, too nosy or too stupid. I almost gave up on ever getting help or feeling better, but then I met Stephany. She was really cool and together we started to work through some stuff. She met with my family and me once, once every week. Finally things started to feel better and living seemed like it could have a point. Living finally seemed like a better option then dying. If I had killed myself, I never would have found that out.”

I listened intently as the girl spoke. I had a million questions for her but she was walking quite a few steps ahead of me by now.

“What do I need to do?” I asked the girl.

“You need to find an adult that you trust and tell them how you feel. If you don’t think you can make it home without hurting yourself, then call 9-1-1 or something. Just don’t kill yourself. I promise you, things can get better and it’ll be worth it.”

I nodded and continued following the girl, but then suddenly it was the weirdest thing. She disappeared. I swear it, she just literally dissolved into thin air. I saw it happen. I turned around and around and almost bumped smack into a police officer.

“Hey, are you all right there?” Asked the officer.

My generic lie, “I’m fine,” was on my lips, but then I remembered the strange girl and how caring she’d been. I remembered her hand rubbing my back, and her promise that things could get better.

“I’m not.” I told the officer. “I really need help. I was just about to jump into the path of a subway train and my home isn’t really safe and I’m scared.”

The officer listened then nodded.

“How about we get you some help?” He suggested.

I nodded, my shaking was even worse and I was crying, but I was going to get help. Things were at the rock bottom and the only way left to go was up.

The officer who introduced himself as Thom, took me to the hospital where I was evaluated and I spoke to a social worker who will come to my house and help my parents get their act together. I also started to see a therapist who’s really cool and nice.

As for the strange girl in the subway station, I still don’t know what to make of her. I don’t know if she was real or just another one of my hallucinations. I don’t think I’ll ever know, but what I like to think is that she was a guardian angel and that she’s still out there somewhere, watching, and waiting to help me if I ever need it again.

If you’re out there guardian angel. Thank you, you were right. Living is worth it.