"Lost Soul"

My hands are shaking as I held a blade over my pulse. My palms are sweaty and cold, tears stream from my eyes as the past events in my life unfold before me. I watch my life rewind with emotionless stare as all I feel now is that I am so lost. Hopeless. Sad. Alone.

I could hear my breathing as it comes out fast. I'm scared but I feel like this is the only way to escape. To stop the madness that is creeping on me. The terror that gripped me. I no longer want to live. I cannot see myself walking this earth anymore as life has repaid me nothing but sorrow, pain and endless melancholy. I gave everything into the universe, all the love, joy and hard work that I can do, I gave my life my all, but it failed me. I failed me. I was not designed to be amongst the living. I do not deserve to live anymore. The bubbly, happy girl is gone. All I am is a pathetic lost soul. Hollow and wretched I walk everyday of my life unable to find meaning in what I do. I do not see any reason to live or to do the things I do everyday. I am surrounded by so many people but everyday I feel more and more alone.

Depression kills. I am dead even though I have yet to sink this blade into my skin. Even before it cuts through my veins I am already gone. I exist and yet my heart, my mind and my soul no longer does.

I cannot remember how this started or how I fell into this pit of darkness, all I know is I lost what is left of me and there is no other solution but to end everything. Stop breathing, stop living, give up.

With shaky hands I slowly bring the blade closer to my wrists. Slowly, painfully I slice it through my skin and into my veins. A sudden gush of blood flowed to my arms. The pain is unbearable but it cannot compete to the sense of fulfillment that I felt. I let myself give in to the pain. It resonated through my whole body and being, until we are one. My eyes are beginning to shut as 5 minutes passed. Briefly, I remembered how I came to the decision of ending my life. It is quite funny that I planned all of it in a way any nerdy person would commit suicide. I researched. I considered several methods like hanging myself, drinking pills, OD'ing on some kind of drugs, but, I ultimately ended up with deciding to slit my wrists.

My life is so purposeless and insignificant that I would not want it to end as it is. I wanted drama, emotion, showmanship - I want blood.

As I discovered, the best method of cutting your wrist is to cut vertically. By cutting across your wrist, you run the risk of damaging tendons, causing you to be unable to cut the other arm. The goal to cut vertically is to sever the radial artery in a manner that facilitates rapid blood loss. By cutting along the length of the artery, you'll trigger the body's own defenses – arterial constriction, which will pull the artery open, allowing it to bleed more quickly.Otherwise, it will be a very long and painful method to die.

The depth of the cut should be from ½ to 1 inch deep, and run along with the radial artery. The radial artery supplies the blood to the arm and hands. It is a major artery found in your forearm and to cut it, you must go through the skin and tendons. After that, it seems to take a long, long period to bleed out. And true as it is, I am looking at my slit wrists and seems like forever as I see my blood drip to the water as I lay on the bathtub. I tried to slit my other wrists but my left hand has no strength at all to carry my own hands and make the slit. I lie there helplessly as I wait for myself to bleed to my death.

I never knew that dying could be so hard. That even at the doorstep of death, it still is a gruesome journey to get to that peaceful place.

Depending on how well you have made the cuts, bleeding out could take anywhere from a few minutes to half an hour. You would experience an increased heart rate, a clammy feeling, dizziness, and become pale. This will be followed by a shortness of breath, and when your blood pressure drops far enough, you'll lose consciousness and eventually die.

Thirty minutes have passed and I am bleeding out rapidly, the pain is unbearable but I no longer fight it. I savor it, thinking that this is the last time I will be able to feel pain, sadness, melancholy or anything at all. I am just so eager to find stillness and infinity. I just want to get to that place where suffering is no longer an issue and people can no longer hurt you. This is my revenge for all the pain. Maybe, just maybe when they find me lying lifeless in a tub full of blood they will finally see what they all have done to me and how much I needed people to care. Perhaps, in my death they will feel and experience my life. With me gone the heaviness that I feel in my heart will also be theirs, as they will remember every single minute that they have made me feel unimportant. The weight of their conscience will kill them inside, knowing that they made me grab this razor. They made me slit my wrists and made me watch myself die an agonizing end.

This is the culmination of my journey, the final vow to where I will have the last laugh. I have cheated life. It screwed me over and over again, now I am ending everything on my own terms. On this bathtub, I decided to die because once I thought I was living all the while I was preparing for this moment. This is the time, place and end of me. This is my death.

I was born the youngest out of four siblings. However, I am the bad luck, the misfit, family wrecker. Our mother Lucy had an affair with another man - her boss. I was a fruit of adultery, and because of me, her husband - Brandon Johnson died.

Everybody hated me.

Who would love the product of lust? Of immorality and all that destroys what true love is. I hated my mother for giving birth to me. I just wish she aborted me instead or better yet she remained faithful to her beloved husband and kids. If only she made the right choices I would not have been born into this cruel world. I would not have been contemplating my own death. I wouldn't be in a tub swimming in my own blood.

My siblings Cara the successful heir of her father's winery business, Janet the lucky housewife who is married to a big business tycoon and Matthew the only person who has shown me a bit kindness. Matt was quite a big brother, he is an artist. He is wild and free and I envy him. He is the only one cool with me being part of their "family." While everybody else would wish me dead or shove me in a basement for all eternity. He was there. He took me in as his own sister. I am forever grateful. He is the only one I have closest to family.

My mom, whom should have been my only ally in this cruel life hated me more than I hate her. She despised that I was alive, that I remind her of her dark past. She blames me for everything. As to why her lover left her. How she crumbled and almost died because of heartbreak. She loved the son of a bitch. He was everything she wished for a man. Powerful, handsome and dangerous. Everything that her husband was not. The only reason she kept me alive is her late husband. Due to his inability to leave her and his ego, he had my mother keep me. Even if I was not his he let the world know I was a Johnson. Just because he wants to protect the family's good name.

People say Brandon was kind. He was a man who worked his way up into the winery business and eventually had a big break and became what he was. Johnson Brewery and Winery is one of the biggest in our town. He was respected and everybody looked up to him. However, to me, he was a different man. He treated me as if I do not exist. He looks at me and sees past through me. He sees me but never acknowledges me. To him I was a ghost.

I was ten when he passed away. Everyday, I saw him deteriorate. He stayed for ten years more in a marriage that is already tainted with lies and mistrust. He saw me and everyday it killed him. I am a painful reminder of his inability to make his wife stay.

In the chaos of it all, I was all alone. I sulk at my misfortune having been born in the most despicable manner. Even my own skin crawl at the thought of me. I felt dirty. I learned the truth when I was 10 years old. But even before then I knew there was something different with my family. While most families' youngest child is cuddled, loved and adored, I was treated with much disdain and neglect. The only person who took care of me is Nana Rose. She was my nanny who took care of me as a baby and until now. From her I experienced warmth and love. Looking back, she was more of a mother to me than my own. She was always so busy getting drunk, in fact, on one of her drunk fits, that's the time she told me everything. I remember her exact words until now.

Hannah! Haaaannnnaaaah! she called out to me slurring her words as I went near her she tossled my hair but not on a loving way, she did it while my head went back and forth. I was scared but I tried to get a grip of myself and said "Yes Mom?" in my tiny voice.

She laughed, that crazy shrill drunken laugh and said, "You piece of shit! You ruined my life!" She shouted while pointing fingers at me crying and laughing at the same time. "You should not have been born. You are nothing but bad luck. Did you know I had you with my boss? You are not your father's daughter! You destroyed everything!!!" She shouted as she threw her wine glass at me, missing me by an inch and slamming at the wall. Nana Rose hurriedly run to me and took me and said "Hannah, baby, come with me, mommy is just sad..." But my mom shouted "Take her away Rose! I don't want to see that kid again! She brought me to my room and I realized I was shaking, I was holding back my tears all the while and when Nana Rose led me to my bed I let out a wail and I was crying and crying for God knows how long. While Nana Rose held me until I fell asleep.

After that day, I started to ask questions from Nana Rose and as much as she doesn't want to tell me everything in my early age, she succumbed seeing how determined I was and how my family's relationship with me got worse. She would give me bits and pieces of information and the most she has given me was my real Father's name - Garrett Klutz.

When Matt and me play I would ask him questions and he will tell me, "that's okay kid, it's kinda cool to have you here. I don't really care who your father is." But with a lot of bothering and convincing he taught me to stalk in Google and Facebook when I was 12. That's when my obsession began.

For so many years, I was obsessed with my father, he was at his 50s but he still was handsome. Imagine George Clooney just make him a bit fatter but still fit in a way. That's how devastatingly handsome he was. He was still single based on his Social Media accounts and press releases I see. He was with so many different girls - all young and beautiful, models, famous celebrities. Quite the ladies' man my dad.

Dad? it burns in my mouth when I say it. At first I was in awe at his power and looks. He was a succesful businessman of a tech company that was well known not only here in California but has also gone international penetrating European and Asian countries, he was loaded that's for sure. Sometimes, I wonder if he would have ever wanted me and what would it be like to live with him. It must have been so exciting seeing how he jet sets around the world. That went on until I was 15. Up until I realized he would never want me and he was just some selfish son of a bitch. So what do I do? Matt told me to enjoy life and not bother anymore with my past since I can't do anything about it. So, I relished in our richness and partied like crazy.

At 16, I'm hooked on mollies and pot. I dranked whenever I can. Got VIP status on every clubs eventhough I was underaged. Perks of being a Johnson.

People may look at my life and tell me I'm crazy for not seeing the silver lining of how I was born into a family with fame and money. They would only see how 'lucky' I am for being born with such wealth and get everything I could ever want and need in a snap. And I did get everything I wanted. I reveled in the luxury of the life I have. I was quite the party girl. The 'it' girl if you may call it. I ravished every cent that I could get my hands on to go to clubs, get drunk, drugged and laid. Every night is a party and that is what people only see. The privileged girl who takes what she wants. I really did let my reputation get in the way of what I am truly experiencing. But then, that was how I cope.

The pain right now is so unbearable, I could feel my wrists that I ripped open hurting like a bitch. I could feel the blood rushing fast. I thought this was a dramatic way to die, to make an impression, to convey my hurt and my suffering but right now I only wish I could have chosen a different way to go. Overdosed on some pills maybe? And die in a deep slumber. But no, until the end of my life I failed myself by choosing a gruesome death. As if my life is not enough suffering as it is, I chose to end it in the most painful way possible as if all this pain will atone to the sins of how I was brought into existence. Damn this brain and how damaged I am that every bit of my judgement is clouded. I never was the best person to live if I may say. I always make the worst of decisions anybody could ever make. Give me a sound advise and trust that I will completely disregard it and all the red flags and choose the worst way to do anything. That's just me, a complete chaos of emotions.

As the lights from the overhead lamp of my bathtub gets dimmer, I could no longer feel pain but a wave of peace like I was on heroine. I feel floating, I was lighter and as the lights start to flicker out, I let out a sigh and a smile - remembering my plan and how I will destroy all their lives. This is my end but only the beginning of my revenge. The letters.

I took my last breath and then, darkness.

It is a bright summer day, the birds are chirping, the sun is shining brightly. It is a big contrast to what this day is. It's Hannah's funeral.

It is quite a big event, flowers everywhere at the chapel and a whole lot of people. Looking at each of them one by one, none of them really cared for Hannah. I see a bunch of her so-called friends and a whole lot of our mom's friends. I look at them with disdain and I can't help but feel a lump in my throat forming, as I see my mom demurely accept condolences from her people looking so distraught followed by her fake sniffles. I know for a fact she never cared for her. It's disgusting. I cannot take it any longer. As the funeral reaches its end. I leave the chapel and drive back to the mansion.

As I approach the door, I stop and get a cigarette from my coat pocket, and light it up. I breathe in deeply and savor the calmness it brings me. It is a breath of fresh air for me, when I close my eyes all I see is Hannah's bloodied body dressed in her white night gownnightgownwn in the tub swimming in a red sea. It was such a gruesome sight, but I have to give it to her she knows how to end her life with a flare. But the events following it are equally, as disturbing and disgusting. My mom and my siblings were furious. They did not shed a tear but instead, they were thinking about how this turn of events will tarnish the family business' reputation and what will all their business partners and friends will think of them. A swarm of journalists and PR people come to the house so they can talk about "risk management."

In the background, I pretend to care but deep inside all I wanted was to scream at them! I wanted to punch my mom's face with so much anger and disdain brewing inside me. Hannah was dead. Hannah was fucking dead! And nobody cared. My heart was breaking inside me. My fucking best friend and sister died and all they cared about is how people will think about us. Hell, let them see what kind of monsters we are. Let the people dissect how a family with money acts, how the inner workings of a carefully created image are all a bunch of lies and hate. I couldn't take it. I shudder with the cold feeling that crept through me as I remember that horrid day.

Somehow as I breathe in the smoke I felt a cold touch on my left hand. It was so subtle I'm not even sure if it happened. I ignore it for a while when I heard a soft whisper with my left ear and it said "Matthew..." My whole body froze. I know that voice. I can never be wrong for it was the voice of my sister, the only problem is, she was supposed to be at the cemetery, in a coffin, and blissfully dead. It was Hannah's voice.

Shaken by the thought of Hannah, I hurriedly threw my cigarette and stepped inside the house. It was eerily quiet and cold. Still shaken I kicked my shoes and settled on the sofa in the sitting room. Lying on top of the coffee table was a bunch of magazines. I leaned forward to get one, anything that can alter my thoughts away from Hannah. I grabbed one of those Housekeeping magazines and as I was flipping the pages to a bunch of articles ranging from how to make DIY arts and crafts to an article about depression, I stopped and began reading the article and as I finished the first page and was about to flip to the next, a white envelope fell. I naturally hunched and look down to get it when I saw what was scrawled on the envelope - it was my name in cursive handwriting that I know all too well. My heart was beating so fast as I grab it. Suddenly the room felt so cold and yet I could feel beady sweat forming on my forehead.

I'm gonna be sick. I hurriedly stood up, grabbed my coat, and went down the hall to the stairs, and turned to the left corner going to my room. I locked the door, went straight to bed, and lay down, the letter still firmly in my hands. I lifted it and looked at it. I know the only logical thing to do is to open it and read. But my head was pounding and my heart was racing. Deep in my veins I know reading this will not do me any good.

I take one look at it again, I tried to tear the side to open it as I made a small tear. I felt something stopping me from within my body. I dropped it and as it fell to the floor I look at it with teary eyes. What could have Hannah written in there? Why me?

I grabbed the blanket as I feel the cold air in the room I looked at the windows and they were shut closed. I don't know where the draft was coming from. All I know is that this eerie feeling is nagging me and I just want to shake it off. I held the blanket tight and I covered my whole body up to my chin and somehow it calmed me. I leaned to my side and took a glance at the floor praying and hoping that the letter is not there anymore. But it's still there my name written in red, and suddenly I see Hannah's face staring at me and mocking me. I wanted to shout but I cannot. I closed my eyes and suddenly darkness overcame me.

I slowly open my eyes as I felt consciousness slowly creeping at me and waking me from my slumber. I felt disoriented. What happened? I can barely remember, but one thing I know was that I have a letter in my hands, I looked at my left hand and saw it there. I was clutching it, my name still scrawled on the envelope but the ink was smudged. It wasn't a dream. It was real.

Dearest Matthew,

You're probably thinking what kind of morbid thoughts have entered my crazy mind as I am writing to you from the other side. Technically, I'm not yet dead as I was writing this but in my heart and soul, I've long been dead. Matt, you know you were the only one that has always been there for me. Sometimes I feel sorry for you, for always having my back with all the insane things I've done and yet I still get into trouble all the time. But hey, it's not your fault, it's just that mom and your dad hate me to the core of their bones. Don't worry, I was not crying while writing this. I have long accepted my fate that my own mother will never love me the way she loves you and our siblings. And your dad, don't get me started. He doesn't even acknowledge that I exist. He pretends all the time that I'm some distant bad dream that if he pinches himself just hard enough, I will vanish. I don't blame him because he never saw me as his daughter. You always thought he was the better one between mom and him but he was so much more. He was a different kind of evil. One that you can never fathom. I know you loved him. He was caring and gentle to all of you. But to me, he was just a soulless devil.

Do you remember the time when you were 11 and I was 9, we got so dirty when we played out in the rain in the garden? Dad called us inside and he told us to go clean ourselves up and he will take care of me? I grabbed your arm and told you please stay and you said it's fine, and you'll be back. Guess what? He took care of me real good. It was real slow like time stopped and I felt like my soul left my body and I was watching myself from the outside. Crying, soaking wet, and cold. He was oh so gentle, it was torture. I kept hoping, wishing, praying, and begging you will open the door of the bathroom and check in with me but you never came and my soul that day never came back to my body...

I clutched the letter to my chest and I could not continue. My hands were shaking and I feel the anger brewing inside me. I want to continue reading but I can't let myself do it. I'm too afraid to discover things that would change my life forever.

I stood up and was about to get out of the room. I suddenly felt like I can't breathe. The air in the room felt so thick. I was standing there and I can't move. The stillness of the room felt eerie. I feel my body hair start to rise and I suddenly felt something blowing air at my nape, or someone breathing at my back I wanted to turn my back but I couldn't make it myself. I heard a faint sound of sobbing. I summoned all my strength and was able to turn around and I felt the movement like someone suddenly moved away from me, when I turn around I saw nothing.

The air suddenly came back to my lungs and the room felt the same. It felt normal. I went to the bathroom adjoining my room and straight to the sink. I turned the faucet on and washed my face. I felt nauseous. There was a sick feeling in my stomach and I couldn't quite place what is wrong. I felt like I was going crazy. What I was feeling and what happened must be all in my mind or some sort of panic attack. I went out of the bathroom and into my room. I can see the faint glow of the sun's rays while it sets, I felt tired.

I went to bed and lay down, the letter crumpled is still on my bed I took it and crumpled it into a ball and threw it in my waste bin. The past is the past, Hannah is dead and nothing can bring her back. It's no use digging up graves that are meant to be left buried. I tell that to myself as a wave of sleepiness overcome me. I close my eyes and then darkness.

I woke up and it was a beautiful morning glow, as I open my eyes a bit more I saw a girl sitting at the foot of my bed. My heart was beating so fast, I slowly sat up and looked at her, she slowly turned to me and I see Hannah, my beautiful sister Hannah, smiling at me full of life, wearing her white nightgown. I smiled at her and then suddenly shook my head. "This can't be! Your dead!"

"But I'm here Matt."

"I..." I was speechless.

"Miss me?" Hannah said and she stood up and sat beside me. It was surreal.

"I want you to read my letter." She said as she slowly held my hand.

Her hands were warm and soft just when she was alive.

"I couldn't..." I swallowed holding back my tears.

Suddenly her grip that was gentle moments ago, started to become strong and hard.

I looked at her and said, "I'm sorry Hannah..."

She screamed long and loud it almost sounded like a howl. It was unnerving, her grip was so tight, it was an iron grip, I tried to get away from her and pushed her but she hold on to me tighter and screamed louder. I looked at her and I saw tears of blood running down her cheeks and her white nightgown suddenly being drenched in blood, my bed as well was now a pool of blood I can see my feet being soaked in its crimson mess. I couldn't breathe. The hands that she was holding felt so painful and I saw vertical wounds forming and it felt as if I'm dying. I looked at my hands and see that the blood flowing on my bed was mine!

I closed my eyes willing myself out of this dream. This couldn't be true. She is dead. She is gone. I tell myself over and over again and then, I woke up. I sat up from my bed and saw that it was dark I looked at my bedside digital clock and it says 3:20 AM.

I looked at my left arm and saw healed vertical wounds that formed a scar on my wrists. I gulped in the cold night air and stood up went to the wastebin and got the crumpled letter.

I need to get to the bottom of this. I need to finish this letter.

"Why didn't you come? You promised that you will always take care of me, that you are my brother no matter what. I was there and I felt so alone. He made me undress..."

I clutched the letter hard as I read this. Heart pounding I convinced myself to carry on...

"He kissed me a peck at first and then he was forcing his tongue at me. I wanted to throw up, I tried pushing him back but I was too weak and I was wet and my hands were slipping. He looked at me and slapped me hard! I was crying and he got a face towel from the sink and shoved it in my mouth I almost choked. He kissed me everywhere, I felt disgusted but I couldn't move because I know struggling won't do me any good. He undressed my skirt and my underwear and I know this is the beginning of my demise. He was gentle at first but it hurt like hell, I tried to shout and push him but it was futile. Then he was rough and he was panting and I just want to die..."

Do you remember that day Matt? "

Tears are streaming down my eyes. That was the first page, if I can will myself to read the rest I have no idea if I can.

Hannah my beautiful sister, a lost soul.