This Is Not The End

This Is Not The End

Author’s Note: I’ve always known that people everywhere are struggling with depression, loneliness, sadness, and other terrible emotions, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that it really sunk in for me.

I was in youth group one night, and the pastor there played one of those YouTube videos of a young person telling their story through flashcards (yeah, one of those) and it broke my heart. This girls sadness, the crap she went through, it was the first thing in a long time to seriously make me weep in public.

It was then that I knew I had to do something, anything to help those suffering people out there. And throughout the week, I really felt like God laid this story on my heart, so I of course followed his instructions and wrote the story I felt he wanted to me tell.

This is for the broken out there, the scared, the lonely, and the friendless; for all the people aching for something more. Open your heart while you read this, and just let God speak to you. I know he spoke to me, and it is my hope he speaks to you.

This Is Not The End

She walked into the bathroom with her fists clenched shut and her face contorted in anger. They had done it again; just like they did last week, and the week before, and the week before that. The insults had rained down like the Pearl Harbor bombing; with no remorse and nothing held back; only dissension and disgust.

Was she any different than they were? Any less human, or any less deserving of love and respect? At this point, she really didn’t know. Maybe there was a time when she did; but that was before, before all of this.

The bruises on her arms, back, chest, and legs weighed down on her like a ten-ton dumbbell; sucking the strength from her body, and draining her of what little pride she had left. It wasn’t enough for them to merely break down her spirits; no, they needed to do more.

The painkillers had stopped helping a long time ago; as did the sleep aids and anti-depressants. She couldn’t drink or smoke the pain she felt; those things had stopped helping  along time ago. She had nothing left now. Her friends had abandoned her, her mom was to drunk to care, and her dad too busy to even recognize he was a father.

She wondered if they would miss her; or if they would even realize she was gone. Sometimes she liked to think that upon her death they would give her a beautiful funeral, one filled with flowers and people who really cared. And tears, real tears; not the ones her mother would use to get dad to go buy more liquor. no not those, but real, genuine tears.

Then reality would set in, and she figured no one would even realize she was gone.

How had it come to this? What had happened to the sweet, kind-hearted girl whose smile would light up a room? Where did she go? Could she still be alive, somewhere deep inside? Or was she just the first casaulty when it all started going wrong?

Looking in the mirror, the girl frowned, disgusted by the person who looked back. The girl with the big nose, bloodshot eyes, fat arms, tangled hair, and worn out clothes. No wonder they laughed at her, mocked her, threw rocks at her as she walked down the street; she really was disgusting.

The image in front her began to blur as the tears came to her eyes. She tried to hold them back, but knew there was no point. If she held them in, they’d come back later and with greater force. With no will to fight, she let them come. Her body fell to the ground; her limbs shook with emotion as her head fell into her hands.

She began to rattle with convulsions as she wept; wept for the little girl who died so long ago; wept for the beauty she once possessed; wept for the past and the innocence it held captive.

Would she be missed? Really, sincerely missed? Or simply forgotten; her memory pushed away and erased? Why did they have to be so cruel? So heartless? They had taken her strength, her will, her love, her courage, her hope, her mercy, her friends; they had taken everything.

Pushing herself to her feet, she tried to regain her composure. The girl looking at her from the mirror was blurred, but she didn’t have to see to know how she looked; broken.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, and smearing mascara across her face, the girl opened the bathroom cabinet and reached inside. Without even looking her hands found what they were looking for; a small, white container filled with innocent looking pills. As the weight of her bruises compelled her, and hopes for peace encouraged her, she unscrew the lid and tossed it away, and tipping the bottle sideways, let half the pills drain onto her palm.

Before she could even lift her hand to her mouth, the girl was suddenly grabbed by some heavy force; holding her tight and keeping her from her only escape.

The girl struggled, tried to fight against this unseen force; but to no avail. There was no escaping whatever was gripping her.

Stop.

With a jolt, the girl froze, a chill trickling up her spine.

Don’t you see what you’re doing?

Beginning to shake, the girl kept quiet; she didn’t know what to say to this invisible man.

Why have you come here? To take your own life? Don’t you understand that it’s not yours to take?

She wanted to reply, to yell her discord at this unseen person; but her mouth was clenched shut and she could not open it.

Is this what it’s come to? Have you really lost all hope in the world? The strange voice stopped, and then, almost in a whisper, said, Have you lost hope in me?

Tears began to flow again, but the girl didn’t know why. This man’s voice was filled with emotion, almost bursting in anguish; and it was breaking her heart.

Have you forgotten my love for you? The way I would play with you when you were young? Dance with you at Sunday school? Cuddle you like a lamb while you slept? Have you really forgotten all of it?

It was too much to bear, the girl couldn’t listen any longer. She tried to block out his voice; tried to ignore it; but it continued on like thunder in her head.

I’ve never left you my darling; never.

The man’s voice began to crack with his emotion as he continued.

This is not the end my dear, I have so much more for you to do in this life. So much good.

Try and remember how you felt when your father came home drunk when you were little. The way he hit your mother, tried to hit you. Who did you call to? Who held you in his arms that night as you cried beneath your bed?

The girl was weeping now, the painful memories flooding back into her thoughts like a an onslaught.

I love you, I know you know I do. You can feel it inside. There is more to this life than sadness and heartache if you’ll let me show it to you.

Suddenly the mirror in front of her began to ripple like a pond; small waves were running over its surface like water on a beach. When the mirror calmed, the face that looked back at the girl was not her own, but that of a woman in her early twenties. Her hair hung low and was accented with curls, and her emerald eyes were sparkling like precious gems. She was beautiful.

Do you know what it is you are seeing?

The image changed again, this time the girl could see into a church. There was the young, beautiful woman again; except this time she was clothed in a dress of wintry magnificence. And standing in front of her, hands enclosed in hers, was a handsome young man with a smile plastered across his face.

It was all too much to bear; the girl couldn’t take it anymore. Her body was shaking with the sobs she couldn’t control, and her mind was imploding with emotion.

It will get better my love. You’ve seen just a glimpse of the riches that await you. There is so much more waiting for you in my love. All you have to do is let me in.

How could she have let this happen? She had let herself fall to far, and all the while, never even looked up for help.

The decision is yours daughter; all you have to do is make it.

Without warning, the girl was free again; her arms and legs once again under her control. Her face was red and wet with tears, but her composure was calm and relaxed.

Taking a deep, long breath, she poured the contents of her hand back into the bottle, and put away the pills.

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6 responses to “This Is Not The End

  1. Good Job Billy !!! No one can go wrong when they write what God has told them to. Proud of you too ( you just keep growing in writing )

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