I am still here. Days have passed in a blur of spiraling emotions and fragmented thoughts, not all of which are painful and pessimistic. I see lights in my life in the form of the people I care about the most; the people who I am living for.
I am living for the twelve year old girl who is like a sister to me. Although she tends to put me down, she is there for me, as I am there for her. We both have the same problems, and she reminds me of me when I was her age. Suicidal, hurting herself, and lost in a whirl of bullies and family problems. I try to help her in the ways that I had wanted to be helped in at that ripe, young age. It almost feels like I am speaking to a past version of myself, although I never was as emotional and slightly bratty. But she is still my sister, and I try and live for her, when she isn't annoying me in the ways that younger siblings do.
I am living for the fifty-seven and fifty-nine parents that I have. The elder of the two, the male one, I wish was out of my life completely. He has hurt my mother and I in the past, and I can never forgive him for some of the things that he has done.
My mother is not the perfect person that people think of her to be, but she is someone that I will always look up to. She has her problems, but so do I, and we try and help each other however we can without trying to control each other. She is the perfect mother; loving nonjudgemental, and even though she does not approve of many things that consist of me, she accepts them and loves me for them anyway.
What I know is that if I had died the first time I had thought about ending my life, both of them would have died along with me. They love me more than I deserve, and I thank them for that, even though both of them can be horrendous at times.
I am living for my eighty-one year old grandmother. Although I tend to disagree with many things that she says, she has always been there for me, and I will always love her for that.
I am living for the fifteen year old girl that had been one of my closest friends for the past two years. Although we are both changing, in some ways better than others, we have been there for each other, and I can picture us staying friends for at least the rest of our high school years. We have both been there for each other during what had felt like horrid times that would never end. I honestly cannot imagine where I would be if we had never became friends.
I am living for the fifteen year old girl who I have been in love with for the past nine months. She is by far the brightest light in my life, and she doesn't even recognize it. She has no idea how much she means to me, and sometimes I want to thank her for that. If she saw herself the way that I see her, things would be very different. She is highly intelligent, the sweetest person I know, and beautiful in her imperfect way. She makes me feel alive just by being in her presence, and I will be forever grateful that she is in my life.
Todays date is Sunday, November 16, year of our Lord 2013. It is 7:33 PM, and this is my first list of things that I am grateful for. These are the people that I am grateful for, and without these people, I don't know where I would be. There are other people who I have not mentioned- my ex-best friend, the spirit of my late Uncle, the spirit of the sister that I never got the opportunity to meet- and but I will save these people for a later time. For now, this is enough. I am glad that these people are in my life, and I will forever cherish them.
I place my pencil down on the small, black journal in front of me, skimming over the messy script quickly. I have finally done it. I have made my first Grateful List. Now I have to decide what to do with it. With the spark of an idea in mind, I rise from the kitchen table with my journal in hand and walk outside, looking at my beloved backyard.
I tiptoe in the snow carefully in my bare feet, walking over to the center of the large yard. I carefully tear out the pages that I was writing on dropping my journal to the two inches of snow. A burning sensation takes over my freezing toes, but no other part of me shakes from the frigid night air. Adorned in my grey sweat pants and black tee shirt, I should be trembling, shivering, doing something besides calmly removing my lighter from my shirt pocket.
I lift up the journal pages and smile at the wrinkled paper, worn after an hour of writing and thinking. I hold up my pale blue lighter, smiling at the brilliant flame that catches onto the corner of the paper.
The paper curls, transforming into ashes that blow away in the strong wind. I watch the ashes, the black butterflies that float away in a swirl of smoke. I hold onto the beautifully flaming paper until the fire starts to lick at my pale fingertips; I drop the paper to the snow and watch as it is engulfed completely. When the paper no longer remains, I pick up my journal and venture back into my house.
Tonight is a new night. Tomorrow is a new day, and I cannot wait to see it.