It didn't help

It had been three months since I cut it off, but it didn’t help. My credit card was declined three months ago, but it didn’t help. My girlfriend left me three months ago, but it didn’t help. I had my first taste of vodka three months ago, but it didn’t help. My best friend started hating me three months ago, but it didn’t help. My sister died three months ago, but it didn’t help. I saw her with him three months ago, but it didn’t help. My mom told me how she felt three months ago, but it didn’t help. I got tossed in the gutter three months ago, but it didn’t help. God turned His back on me three months ago, but it didn’t help. I realized what I was three months ago, but it didn’t help. It had been three months since I tried to kill myself, but it didn’t help.

It had been three months since I cut it off. Blood was everywhere. As soon as the knife went in it squirted out, and after it had gone clean through it was like a waterfall rushing forth from my body. It was so warm, and so wet. Within seconds I lost consciousness. When I came to I was in a hospital. When I looked at where I cut, the bandages that I assumed were once white were forever stained red. It was still warm, but it didn’t help.

My credit card was declined three months ago. I never used it much, just for necessities. That’s why I was so shocked when I was trying to get some milk, just some stupid milk, and the cashier told me the card wouldn’t work. She told me the card had been maxed out. I didn’t argue because I knew it wasn‘t her fault. I also knew that she would have no more information then that. Most of all, I knew who maxed my card out. I put the milk back, and apologized for being an inconvenience, but it didn’t help.

My girlfriend left me three months ago. I knew she had been the one who had maxed out my card. I just didn’t know how she got her hands on it. She probably used it to buy some jewelry or pay the rent she owed. No, she wouldn’t use it on rent; she had other ways she paid for that. I went to confront her, and as I opened the door I caught a glimpse of a foot flying out of the window and down the fire escape. She immediately ran to me, naked except for a blanket hastily wrapped around her frame. She was holding it up with one hand, and the other was flying around as she talked. Whoever that was, she didn’t want me to get a look at them, for some reason involving jealousy and me. After a short discussion that involved more incoherent yelling than actual words, I left the apartment with one less girlfriend. That would make the count zero, but it didn’t help.

I had my first taste of vodka three months ago. I went back to my apartment I shared with my younger brother. I had always been a light drinker, but I felt like something stronger now, and I knew where he kept his vodka. I lucked out, he had just stocked up, and so there were three bottles. I got through the first two without much thinking, and everything just got more and more numb. As I started into the third one I crashed right next to the sofa, I couldn’t quite make it. The floor was close enough, and my vomit didn’t smell too foul, but it didn’t help.

My best friend started hating me three months ago. When I finally came to, my ears were ringing as my friend was yelling at me. He was so loud. I slowly sat up and rubbed my head. The TV clock said it was three pm. I couldn’t catch much of what was screamed at me before he stormed off angrily, but I did get something about needing me earlier that day. There was something about a pick up, and a job. An airport and a grandmother were also in there somewhere. And I just know he said stuff about this being around the fifth time for me bailing somehow, but it didn’t help.

My sister died three months ago. My brother had been watching the news before my head even started to feel better. Luckily he was pretty cool about the vodka thing, and he understood. We had always been really close. Then for some reason he screamed at me. Something happened on a bridge. Our sister was involved, and a call to our mom confirmed it. She had died. Probably out on another joy ride higher than a kite. Some mistake, maybe a friend’s, maybe hers, and that was it. She always did like the water. I guess that’s irony in a way. I knew I would need to go to the funeral, but it didn’t help.

I saw her with him three months ago. For some reason my mom wanted me and my brother to help with planning the funeral, but he couldn’t make it. After quite a while my mom just got frustrated with me and told me to leave. She would rather have no one help then someone who is such a hindrance like I am. So, I headed back to the apartment for a beer or something, I didn’t know what, just something. As I got to the door I heard some giggling and moving bed springs. This brightened me up a bit, I was proud of my little brother. So, I threw open the door, and with a lot of compliments towards his skill to bring someone back. I stopped short as I heard whispered shushing. His door was cracked, so I couldn’t help but peer in. There she was, my recently made ex covering herself with my brothers blanket, and him looking down like a dog caught chewing up the table. More harsh words and anger flew around. When I left only sadness remained, but it didn’t help.

My mom told me how she felt three months ago. I couldn’t stay there anymore, so I bummed with my parents. Mostly my mom, since dad still worked. I tried to help more with the funeral, and everything around the house, but it wasn’t good enough. After a few trying days with long lectures and hard work, my mom talked with me one on one. She told me a lot of things, how I was a failure and always would be one, how I always made the worst decisions, how I corrupted everyone who came near me, how she had always hated me and still did, and how she wished I had died instead of my sister, so she could celebrate instead of mourn, but it didn’t help.

I got tossed in the gutter three months ago. After my mom chewed me out, she tossed me out of the house, didn’t even give me time to pack, just threw a change of my clothes next to me. I scooped them up, and left. It didn’t matter where; things seemed to matter less and less. I stayed with a few friends, then some acquaintances, but that didn’t ever last longer than a day. I was always sent out on the street all alone, but it didn’t help.

God turned His back on me three months ago. As I wandered the streets I got colder and colder. I called myself a Christian, but I didn’t go to church, and I didn’t read anything, let alone the Bible, and I’ve never felt like this. It was a cold that went through all of me, and it didn’t matter that it was warm and the sun was up, I was freezing. It was like some Great Warmth had pulled away, and turned their back. Like God had cast me aside as hopeless, worthless, meaningless. No matter how hard I tried to warm up, the chill remained, but it didn’t help.

I realized what I was three months ago. With nothing to do, and no one there, I had a lot of time to think. I wondered who I was, and as I looked through myself and my past, I realized I was never a who, but I was simply a what. I was never a person, only a thing to be used. Only a tool to be discarded when it stopped being useful enough. My friends, family, close ones, they only wanted me around when I was useful, when I contributed. The second I didn’t do that, the second I didn’t do as much, they fled without a second thought. I was tossed in the gutter, in the garbage, down the sink. Worst of all, looking back I couldn’t see how any of them ever saw me as useful in any way, but it didn’t help.

It had been three months since I tried to kill myself. Through everything I had kept my Swiss army knife. My grandpa gave it to me before he died. He always told me it was lucky, that it is what got him through the war. Funny, the thing he claimed helped him survive was now going to help me. I was cold, abandoned, betrayed, hurt, and so many other things as I sat in that alley by that dumpster. The knife wasn’t too sharp, but I would make it work. I was determined, and I knew this was the best way. This way was the most poetic. My greatest desire, my greatest blessing, my greatest burden, and my greatest curse. It was all of these things, and now it would be the mechanism of my end. I unzipped my pants, and opened my boxers. Gripping it tight, I pulled the knife against it. My first instinct was to stop and pull away, but I refused to. Instead I pushed further, and the first of the blood spilled out. It gushed, and spewed everywhere. By the time I had cut the whole thing off blood was shooting from me. Still gripping tight I felt the warmth of my own blood spill over me. Slowly everything started to spin, and I got tired. I was so tired, but I was finally warm. So, I let sleep take me, but it didn’t help.

[(I woke up cold and alone in the hospital. No one was there. The doctors told me that my family was informed, but no one came. I understood, I was a burden before, and I would be an even greater one now. So, the best thing to do is to make sure this time and let them move on, right doctor? So please, give me the gun. Thank you.
BANG)alternate/extended ending]