slightly based in truth, mainly farce

I’m going to die, or so I think, I cant throw up, I cant get this out of me, I cant breathe, I have never felt this before, this is a heart attack, oh my god I’m going to die. I have dreamt of this day for 15 years, ever since I first realized that I wasn’t the favorite, that I was the mistake, that they regretted their decision right after I was born. I have always imagined the reaction of my family, but at that point my family had not been reduced to its bare parts, the nucleus of our family gone, as we floated around the remnants of our relation to each other, our new “family.” I would like to think that my family would miss me, would cry hysterically at my passing, but over the years I have learned differently. My sister doesn’t care anymore as evidenced by not only her blatant statements and harsh actions, but also illuminated by her presents (and presence; her standoffish stance, arms crossed, agitated look and comma eyebrows lend themselves to the image of a bitter dwarf just holding out until the end of our relationship, when my mother finally passes). My sister, known by others for her phenomenal gift giving and wrapping, presents gifts to me with lackluster preparation; no bows or ribbons or sparkles, just plain gift wrap around whatever unwanted item that she is unwillingly delivering at my feet at yet another forced ceremony, a birthday or holiday which she has no desire to celebrate as it does not revolve around her. The presents themselves are always half thought out as a clever and skillful way of giving me something that I would hate, but having a proper defense when questioned. This time it was a book about magic and a pig shaped wallet, where her association of pigs with me came from is completely foreign to me as I personally am not a fan of said animal, I find them neither cute nor amazing yet she continues to purchase pig shaped items for me annually, which I believe to be a dig at my weight, and the magic book, of which I have repeatedly stated on multiple occasions that I find magic to be a useless part of society that encourages lying and deception without the whimsy of acting. My sister would feign sadness for my mother’s sake, but secretly revel in the release of me from her life while simultaneously hating me for escaping and leaving her with the task of maintaining my mother, I am a toxic force, do not forget, as she clearly hasn’t. My mother is a completely different story since she obtained the matriarchal status several years prior at the passing of my father. In her attempt to be strong for her children, she retreated into a world of herself and seems emotionless except for the few expressions brought forth by whatever television show seems to be on the ever-powered TV. Her salt-and-pepper hair recently cut to match mine, one would assume a stronger connection between the two of us as we now look even more similar and spend nearly every weekend and weeknight together. She would be hurt by my passing and definitely loosen her grip over her own emotions and reactions, yet she would need to quickly spring back to her previous state, for my sister’s sake of course. All of this flashes though my mind as I continue to sit there, gasping for air, pounding away on my own chest to somehow reset the rhythm of my heart as I feel it move upward towards my mouth, I’m overdosing yet I haven’t taken anything all day and may finally flush this out of my system with a simple regurgitation, but I don’t know if that’s the right choice. I sit there now contemplating my future, whether its worth living or not, knowing that in death I will be able to feel for the first time at least some semblance of altruism from my mother and have given up hope on the hobbit that sprung from her loins four years prior to my arrival. Here it comes, do I stop it? Do I allow myself to vomit up the demon which has grabbed a hold of my throat, heart, stomach, lungs, or do I keep it inside and let it take me to the place which I have half convinced myself of that I am ready to go to, finally giving up on myself and for once in my life following through? I close my mouth, covering it with my feeble child hands as my whole body now begins to convulse and I feel life slipping away and I don’t feel cold or light or any of the other feelings ascribed to death by cinema geeks and writers galore. I feel pained, this hurts far more than I expected and I brace myself for the end of this pain which should most certainly be soon, it has to be son, I cant bear any more of this. It hit’s the point where I now can no longer hold on, I start shivering and am covered in goosebumps, here’s the promised cold, finally, and I let go of my mouth in order to just embrace the impending death and lay flat on my back on my white Jimi Hendrix rug, how fitting. It reaches my soft palate and I attempt to hold it in using all of my oral muscles, so trained from my years as a geeky chubby slut willing to give it up to whomever was interested, yet I cant keep my lips closed and I figure that, at the least, I’ll choke on my own vomit, but instead out comes a trickle of gas, a small burp, and that which overwhelmed my body with anguish and pain has now begun to dissipate. I prepared myself for my death, even so much as to leave the light on in my room so that my mother would know that I’m home, yet not leaving the door open so as to not be disturbed by a cat. Nothing would be sadder than to be laying there dead with a cat walking across your body, nuzzling up to the lifeless form on the floor, and even more disturbing than to be discovered as such, even in death reduced to a tool. I lay here disappointed as I believe that I have experienced indigestion for the first time and begin to cry as I finally found motivation to complete a task, but was unable to do so by unforeseen forces. Moments ago I believed myself to be possessed by some deathly demon ready to snap the final cord, yet here I remain alive and saddened by my lively state and have not realized that there wasa demon, it is still inside me and brewing, wakened by this near death experience and ready to take hold of my life, my actions, my relationships and finally drive me to death, a different demon than I expected, a Lonely Assassin of sorts just displacing me and co-inhabiting my body with the remains of my self in order to bring about my inevitable demise, killing me kindly by isolating me from others and turning me into that which as a child I never dreamed of. I am becoming a monster and find it humorous now, reflecting, that even in my believed moment of death I am an instrument, used again for another’s purpose, but perhaps this is all that we are and all that we are meant to be, but I am destined for more, more heartache and terror as I now begin to rise from the floor and regain my composure, standing heavily on my feet ready to immerse myself in the day ahead.