When I see no one attempting to leave, I continue, “It was this exact night a year ago…this same charity…this same ballroom that I walked out of, stumbled into a cab pissed out of my mind, and headed through the streets of London. The entire ride, I looked at the driver and thought to myself, ‘he’s got no idea he’s driving a dead man.’
“I arrived at my brother’s furniture shop, grabbed a small, circular saw blade he used for trim work, and drug it across each one of my wrists.” A faint cough echoes in the distance, and I sigh heavily at the ridiculousness that normal things like coughing still happen while I’m up here revealing the incredible fucking darkness in my soul. “You see, I was coming to the end of a dark and depressing tunnel that I had been living in for several years.” I pause momentarily to collect myself for my big moment of truth. The most painful truth that I still struggle with to this day.
“Four years ago, I was a part of a horrific accident that took my sister’s life.” My voice cracks and I frown at the annoying emotions that overcome me. I let my chin hit my chest and suck the insides of my cheeks in between my teeth and bite down. The spongy bounce on my inner cheeks smarts and distracts me enough to continue.
“I still have difficulty labeling what happened to my sister as an accident. When you’re the one behind the wheel…it’s still a tough pill to swallow that it truly was as simple as an accident. Why did it have to be her? Why did I have to be driving by just as she came around the house? So many ripple effects to all the choices we both made that resulted in that one moment. That’s an incredibly hard result to live with.
“Which is likely why I spiraled out of control for so many years. Booze and pills became my best mates, even landing me in the hospital for several weeks at one point. So when shite really hit the fan in my personal life, slitting my wrists seemed like the answer.”
I pause as I recall that one dark night with Reyna. In her flat when I could feel her slipping away from me. I could feel her leaving me, and I knew I wasn’t good enough to make her stay. I knew her heart wasn’t mine to care for because I was nothing. I wasn’t important enough for her to love fully. That was my breaking point. I had hated myself for so long because of what I did to my sister that when I finally accepted the fact that I couldn’t be loved by even someone as dark and twisted as Rey, it truly was the end.
“The pain was minimal at first. Just a wincing sort of ache…Then it spread like wildfire to a burning, sweltering rage. I remember this strange twinge in my shoulders as the blood flooded out of my body and hit the concrete floor beneath me. When I looked down at the sea of red around my shiny dress shoes, I forgot about the pain. I forgot about the cause. I forgot about everything leading up to this one incredibly profound moment. This one moment that I chose was permanent. In that one moment…I had finally erased my life forever.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mum clap her hand over her mouth. Her eyes strain against the tears flowing out of them. She’s heard this story before, but I imagine hearing it like this—without any interruption from my therapist—is probably a great deal different.
“But dying that night was all right by me…That was the point, right? The gruesome blade had provided its service. It had yielded my death in a dramatic and manly fashion. I wasn’t sure how long it took to die. This was my first proper go at it. My watch still said 11:11 when my blinking started to feel sticky. It felt as though I was one second closer to not opening them ever again. One second closer to my requested death.”
I clear my throat and push back every shred of emotion attempting to erupt inside of me. Christ, not now Hayden! Get your shit together. I grip my leather cuffed wrists and touch the face of my watch and continue. “Just as I thought I was about to die, she arrived.” My eyes drift down the stage and land on Leslie. Her auburn hair lies softly around her shoulders, framing her face and accentuating her perfectly sincere smile. Leslie doesn’t smile like the British. She smiles like the beautiful, vulnerable, and quirky American that she is.
She gives me the tiniest nod and it’s like I’m transported back to that night all over again. “She wasn’t the woman occupying my thoughts in that moment,” I continue, staring straight into Leslie’s watery green gaze. “She was simply…reality.”