I open my eyes, mostly to blink away the tears. My gaze falls upon
a pile of a fabric at the end of my bed. Under a thick layer of dust
there are multiple patterns and colors. My blankets. They come in
and out of focus as I think about my past, the things I’ve done, who I
am. If I’m honest with myself, I can see why people say I’m arrogant
and selfsh and proud. I can see why people say I’m cold, I’m hard
and I’m only interested in winning.
Maybe I deserve this. Maybe I should just give up and die. It
would be easy, so beautifully easy. Muscles I didn’t even know were
tensed let go and relax, ready to let me slip away.
Before I give into the darkness, a feeble voice fghts back. It
tells me: “No, you don’t deserve this. Maybe you’re a bad, horrible
person, but this isn’t right. No one deserves this. No one.”
My thoughts from the night stay with me. Am I perfect? No. Are
there things I’d change about myself if I got the chance? Yes. But
there’s nothing wrong with being tough, with being a fghter, with
being a lucky winner. And my last thought before going to sleep was
the right one: No one deserves this.