A Final Solution

1

Sitting motionless after a long night filled with argument and violence, Tammy sighed. She was sick of it all. Sick of the way her father treated her, sick of how her mother would sit there like it was all okay, and not protect her, sick of it all. Perhaps her brother was right in moving out while he could. Just earlier this day, she was at her friend’s house having a blast. They’d went to the store, went on a long walk, had lunch, and went back to her house to hang out. Then her father and mother picked her up and took her to get her pay check that she should have received the past Sunday. 2

Tammy entered her work and went to the back. They still didn’t have it. So she went back out to the truck where her mother and father were. “Where is it?” her father asked. Tammy shook her head and explained that the pay roll lady mustn’t have come. She hopped in the truck and grumbled. Her father got angry. “You’ve been there about 4 times already. WHERE IS IT!?” 3

“I don’t know.” she replied. 4

“Stop raising your voice!” he yelled, as he hit Tammy in the arm. 5

“Pay attention to the road.” said Tammy’s mother. 6

“DON’T bunny TOUCH ME! PAY ATTENTION TO THE DAMN ROAD!” Tammy replied in anger. 7

The argument led on until they got home. He called her every name mentionable. Tammy slammed her door and stayed inside her room until dinner. She blared her Slipknot music, and sat there in disgust. 8

At dinner, Tammy never said a word. Her father kept glaring at her, and then rose to his feet. “TURN DOWN YOUR MUSIC, NOW!” he ordered. 9

“I’m eating.” Tammy replied, with no emotion in her voice. 10

Her father rose to his feet and headed for her room, stomping his feet. Tammy followed behind. He grabbed her speakers and turned them off. 11

“Go. Back to the table.” he ordered. 12

“You first.” Tammy replied, motioning him to go first, and she would follow. 13

He got angry, “GO.” he said, his voice gaining anger. Tammy walked out, and waited for him to get out of her room. She turned off the light and then closed the door. 14

“You wanna butt heads, don’t you?” He said, antagonizing her. She gave him a dirty look and walked back into the kitchen to finish her dinner. 15

After dinner, Tammy went into her room. She sat at her computer for a while, until she got bored. She rose from her chair and unpacked her bags from the night before. She stayed at her friend’s house for the night and planned on doing it again in a couple nights. She sighed again. She was sick of this life, sick of not being able to escape. Sick of being stuck in a hell hole, a place where nobody cares, sick of having nothing, sick of her family, sick of life in general. She sat down at her computer desk again, and began writing, only this time, nothing would come out. She was filled with so much anger, so much hate, the only thing that came to mind was, “I HOPE YOU bunny DIE! THAT WAY I CAN LAUGH AT YOUR FUNERAL AND SPIT ON YOUR DEAD BODY YOU PIECE OF bunny! I wanna tear off your flesh and watch you scream!” Tammy growled. She was so tired of bottling everything up. She used to bottle it up, until one year she had a breakdown and it took forever to get back to normal. Of course her parents never knew anything was wrong, they never paid attention. Why would they give a damn? So she began venting by writing poetry and playing guitar. But now, not even poetry could save her. Not even the beautiful tunes she composed could carry her out of this hole. She truly was at ground zero. Rock bottom. No escape. 16

Thinking about everything that had affected her up until now, death, life, change, life in general, Tammy began going red. She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes. What to do, she thought. What could she do? Run away? There was no where to go. Move out? She didn’t have enough money. Kill herself? Why not? Not like anyone cared anymore. Sure her friends cared, but, they could survive without her. Her parents never paid attention, her family disowned her for having piercings, her work could always hire someone new in a heart beat, her school… well, not like they mattered. After tonight’s argument, it pushed her to end. So much bottled up inside, yet she couldn’t get it out, no matter how hard she tried. She waited until her parents fell asleep. Then she made her move. 17

She walked to the bathroom and looked behind the mirror for anything helpful. Nothing. Damn it she thought. She walked to the kitchen and hopped up on a chair. She searched the cup boards above the sink. She looked for anything. “Aha!” she said aloud. A bottle of Tylenol 3s. She looked around and then got off the chair. She ran to her room with the pills and poured the whole bottle out onto her bed. She then walked back into the kitchen. 18

Opening the silverware drawer, she looked for a knife. She grabbed the most dull one, remembering from her cooking class, that you can get cut by a dull knife easier than by a sharp one. Lovely, she said grinning. She carried it quietly back to her room after grabbing a bottle of water. 19

Sitting in silence, she counted all of the pills. Twenty five of them. Why did I just count all of them? She asked herself. Not like it’s going to matter. I won’t be alive to care. She stared at the pills for a while, occasionally glaring at the knife and her water, as if they were going to tell her when to do it. She began remembering things of her childhood, friends, school, concerts, favourite bands, favourite lyrics, places to hang out, good memories, times when she wasn’t depressed. Then came the negatives. She remembered break ups, arguments, exes, friends moving, getting hurt not only physically, but mentally and emotionally, being bullied, hating life. Many others. Things she never wished she knew. Thoughts ran through her head so quickly. She closed her eyes as a tear began to fall. She turned around quickly and stuffed her face into a pillow. It was coming back again. After she thought it was gone for good. But how foolish, if it were gone, she wouldn’t be sitting here. 20

“You’re nothing but a chicken bunny. Stop crying, Tammy. Or should I say, cry baby?” Tammy looked up, sniffling. Who said that? 21

“Just do it already. You know you want to. Nobody loves you, they’ll be better off without you.” Tammy looked around. Who was that? 22

“Don’t do it, Tammy. You know things will get better. Hold on, please.” 23

“What the hell is going on!?” said Tammy, looking around in a panic. “Who are you?” 24

“Your best friend-” 25

“Your guardian angel.” 26

Tammy looked around, stunned. 27

“Don’t listen to the negative, Tammy, you know things will get better. It’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Don’t do it, please!” 28

“Bah, shut up. Tammy, doll… come join me, we can party all night, you can have anything you want. And you don’t have to listen to anyone, except me, and I promise I won’t push you around. I’m not going to hurt you. Come on, you’ll love it. We can spend forever together.” 29

Tammy wiped her eyes and looked at her wrists. Did she really want to do this? Did she really want to over dose and cut herself? Was death worth it? She wondered, after all, loneliness was unconditional to her. So here she was, sitting on her bed, with 25 pills and a dull knife. Hearing voices. Was this normal? She hoped not. She was being tempted by death, and coaxed out of by life. She stood up, threw all the pills back into the bottle, walked to the kitchen, shaking, and put the knife away. She tosses the pills back up into the cup board and walked very slowly back to her room. She could hear the devil himself screaming at her to do it. And she could hear her guardian angel crying, begging not to do it. 30

Tammy flopped down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She thought about everything in her life once more, and many more frustrations, like why she didn’t do it, or why she even thought of it. “I need to get my bunny straight… suicide… why did I think it? My parents might not care, other people might not care… but who knows, maybe it WILL get better… I’m only 16, why am I jumping to conclusions, why am I assuming? bunny them all… I’m going to make it get better.” She got up and grabbed the notebook next to her bed. Sitting back down, she began to write, 31

“A final solution is not suicide. A final solution is thinking before you act. A final solution is trusting yourself. And the best solution is taking one day at a time…”32