I grieve different

2025-02-12

Prompt: think of a lyric that's been on your mind/stuck in your head recently and write something based on it!

Lyric: "I grieve different," from United in Grief by Kendrick Lamar.

content warning: talk of suicide; this work is fictional

I grieve different.

The thing is, I don't grieve. It's all too much for me. Life, that is.

That's why I'm killing myself on the third of January.

That's also my birthday.

My mother should've aborted me.

I grieve different.

As I prepare for the date, I clean my room. I don't want to leave behind a mess for the next person.

I destroy anything incriminating. I get rid of dresses that haven't fit since high school, and I purge the books I know I'll never read.

I gave away most of my possessions; I don't need them anymore.

I started going on coffee dates and walks with the few people I really loved. I would say goodbye and hug them, and for a little longer and tighter than usual. I don't really like hugs, but I wanted their last memory of me to be a good one; it's the least I can do.

I grieve different.

While I was cleaning, I unearthed a fat photo album full of pictures mom printed for me. I got choked up when I saw the little me, happy, being held by daddy.

I grieve different.

I was browsing through r/suicidewatch yesterday on reddit and came across a post where somebody was cleaning their room and getting rid of all their stuff. I thought I was the only one.

I read another post. They were venting. And I felt like shit because their life was ten times worse than mine, and still, I was going to kill myself.

I saw a few comments. Said, "think about who you're leaving behind," and I felt even worse.

I made a post of my own and I got two comments. One was a, "me too brother." I'm a girl.

I get it, though. It's like we're in the trenches together or something. Ironic there's so many of us hurting, connected by some amorphous network, but we'll never meet. We're all so alone. Our families don't understand so we resort to crying out on the internet. Pathetic.

I grieve different.

It's my birthday. I thought I'd be more excited, but I feel nervous more than anything.

I cried because Tracy stopped by and surprised me with a cupcake. She sang happy birthday, and she has a horrendous voice, but it meant something to me.

I don't think I looked happy when I closed the door. I'm sorry, Tracy.

I went to my room and cried over the cupcake, held it forward, cradled in my hands and worshipped it.

I wasn't sure if I could bring myself to eat it, but after the crying, I needed something comforting to soothe me.

I remember peeling away the wrapper and getting a call from my brother.

"Hey, Marie! Sweet baby sister, happy birthday!"

"Hey, Tom," I said back.

"Another year older now, huh? I guess you're not so baby anymore."

I snorted. "Yeah. You'd think after 29 years, I'd graduate to just 'little sister.'"

"Haha, you'll always be baby sister to me. Hey," the crinkling of a wrapper flooded the line, and his voice was muffled as he continued, "you doing anything next week?"

I was starting to get annoyed. I had things to do today. And, besides, I wouldn't be available then. I tried to ignore the guilt bubbling up in my gut.

"Uh, no," I responded.

"Why don't you come visit me? I can take you out and give you your birthday present then."

I chewed at my lip and tried to sound nice. "You don't have to do that, Tom."

"Aw, come on, Marie," he whined. "It's a reaally good gift and I really miss my baby sister." There it was again. Baby sister. It was cute for awhile but it got old fast. It made me feel like a kid.

"Can't you just mail it?" Maybe he'd reconsider when he found out I was dead. He was a chronic procrastinator, after all.

"No," he said more seriously. "It has to be in person."

"Then I don't want it." The words came out faster than I could stop them, and I knew I sounded mean now. Knowing him, it was probably a hand-made gift, fitting for a creative-type like him. It was a waste of time for someone like me.

"What? Why? Marie, you don't sound right. What's going on?"

I wrapped myself up in my cardigan in a vain attempt at comfort. "Nothing."

"Marie," he admonished.

"I said it was nothing!"

"Clearly it's not if you're yelling at me! Telling me you don't want your gift. Tell me what's going on."

"No."

"Marie, are things bad again?" He near whispered, and it was insulting.

"No." My voice was shaking, and it gave me away.

"Have you been taking your meds?"

"Fuck off, Tom."

"Why are you being so aggressive right now?" Tom asked.

"I hate when you ask me that! The meds don't fucking work, alright? Nothing works."

"Then try a new one," he said lamely.

I couldn't contain the growl that rumbled out. "Gee, thanks. I hadn't thought of that."

"Well, it's like what mom said. There's a solution for everything."

I had enough of this. There was no explaining it to him in a way he understood. He never understood.

"Look, I gotta go. I got a, uh, thing."

"I think we should talk about this."

"Bye, Tom. I love you," and I hung up.

That was an hour ago. I'm still sitting on my bed, alone. It's frighteningly quiet here in the apartment.

I'm not sure when I'm supposed to do it. I fantasized about today ad infinitum, but it just feels like another day.

I decide to listen to my favorite songs one last time.

I grieve different.

And I start crying, reminded by the music of all the good times and the bad times.

I grieve different.

I think about how great my life was until it wasn't. I don't know when, but at some point, my life veered so horribly off course until it turned into a living nightmare. I thought, by now, I would have a husband and a kid and a scrungy little dog.

I grieve different.

As I lay there on my back, listening to music, I think about the end

I grieve different.

I'm not religious. To me, death just means being launched into the void.

I grieve different.

The dark, black, vacuous void, where even consciousness ceases to exist. Just like before being born.

I grieve different.

Heaven's a comfort for those deranged enough to believe. I've thought about the void and it scares me every time. I'm scared now.

I grieve different.

I wanted it all to end– the pain– but am I ready to just cease being?

I grieve different.

I don't want to go just yet.

I grieve different.

Huh?

I grieve different.

I want to live

I grieve different.

Just for a little bit longer.

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