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I think I slide down against the counter, with my legs pulled up, and my arms hugging myself

I’m choking on air. It hurts.

It hurts to breathe.

It burns to stay alive.

In… out… in… out…

I try, I really do, but each inhale burns and every exhale seems stuck.

In… out.

My vision tunnels and my stomach twists, all I can hear are the shards clinking faintly under my trembling fingers, but it’s like they exist in another world.

I close my eyes, and whisper to myself.

It’s over. He’s gone, I’m here.

Breathe.

25

Mireya

Past

Play - Forwards beckon rebound by Adrienne Lenker

Look at how you made me

Mama left a month ago. Dad said that she was weak and didn’t want us enough to stay alive. He never tried to lie about her. He just told me that she killed herself and I didn’t understand at first.

How could someone kill themselves?

I just asked him to call her, but he laughed before opening a new bottle saying, “She’s fucking dead, Reya. She committed suicide.”

Suicide.

I didn’t know what that meant. I thought about it for days. It sounded too big and strange, so at first I thought it was a place. I thought maybe if I drew a map that shows the way home and left it on the table, maybe she would find it and come back. I tried to leave the heart I made her to help her find her way back to me, like she promised.

Then I asked Miss Edna at school, and she just hugged me and cried.

She said that suicide was a word adults use when someone decides to stop living, that her body stopped working on purpose and that she won’t come back. She said she was sorry.

I asked her if I made her do it, if I made her sad enough for her to stop wanting to be here forever. But she explained to me that grown ups can feel like they can’t handle things anymore so they make that choice.

Miss Edna told me that kids don’t make parents decide that.

But I wanted to know if it hurt her and she just told me she was already hurting inside and no matter what it wasn’t my fault.

I’m hurt inside too. I have a lot of bruises now that Mom is gone, more than before because Dad started drinking more and he’s getting angrier.

Maybe I could stop too, stop everything and see if Mom is happier now that she’s dead.

Milo hiccuped against my chest, one of his sticky fingers reached out to touch my skin and I smiled. Who would tuck Milo in? Who would give him food and play with him if I’m not here anymore?

He’s falling asleep in my arms and I feel bad for my thoughts.