Page 48 - The Bridge Vol 17_pgs

The Bridge

Grave Thoughts

Maia Daschke
creative nonfiction

Wake up.
Scroll through phone notifications.
See the Daily Mail announcement that another girl my age has killed herself.
The word is bold in the headline: SUICIDE. It shovels a pit in my mind. It digs up once carefully
buried memories.

* * *
The memory of when I was twelve and my best friend called one night and I didn’t answer. I
was tired and falling asleep and assumed it was something about Alkaline Trio that could wait until
morning, but when I woke up and listened to her voicemails I really wished I hadn’t waited until
morning because it sounded bad, it sounded so bad and I wished that I could have been there to stop
the razor from breaking her skin. When I found out she was still alive I remember thinking I had never
been more thankful. But when we were fifteen she really went for it and washed down too many pills
with too much booze and got too close to death before she realized she didn’t really like death after all
and so she called 911 and went and lived in an inpatient hospital for a while. Outside the hospital walls
I lived in worry and guilt.

* * *
Roll over.
Spot the self-help book strategically placed at eye level on the bookshelf.
Remember what the book says about feeling emotions instead of killing them.
Force myself out of bed and try to clean the slideshow of memories playing in my mind.

* * *
The memory of when I first started dating my boyfriend and he told me about what his grandpa did
to him when he was young and he said it wasn’t until years later that he realized what had happened
and when it hit him it really fucking hit him and he never told anyone out of fear so years later when
his brother came forward with the same story he spiraled downwards into a horrible depression.

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