THE MONTH OF JUNE

THE SUICIDE NOTE

”It’s June, the sixth month of the year. It could happen this week, this day or this hour. I thought you’d understand when I said these aren’t coincidences”, I growled on the telephone.

“Yeah but have you taken your medications-” I hung up in the middle of our conversation while uncomfortably gasping for air. It was my therapist who wouldn't understand, despite several evidences of my condition being unnatural. I was on therapy. Three years from now, I thought of it as the best alternative to stop all of it. As of today, my views differ. I took all the medicines and threw them into the bin. I sat on my chair, opened my laptop and started typing an official suicide note, for I knew I was cursed. I could pack my stuff, run far away and never look back at this town. But I knew it will follow me, probably not to my death. Even if it does, it'll spare everyone else except for me, which was, at this point, still acceptable. My fingers were trembling, they were freezing while I typed stuff I was too reluctant to believe. The idea of my young cheerful self struck me, the time when I was a teenager. The time when this curse was a blessing for me. The time when it used to excite me. Every year in the month of June, I used to experience exactly what I saw a year ago. Alternatively, every year in the month of June, I used to see exactly what I would be experiencing a year later. The excitement of knowing what I’d go through next year, right after experiencing what I saw a year ago was magical for me. This continued to be a part of my life, nothing had changed except, I had started to see what I dreaded the most. And I had started to experience it no matter what.

That’s when I realized how vulnerable my present self had become. I looked at my reflection on a huge glass vase I had bought when I used to be the guy living his best life, when the sixth month of the year was what I used to desperately wait for. Something inside of me didn't want me to give up, despite having no one to live for. I was shivering and crying, too helpless to kill myself. Too weak to live with what could happen anytime. I closed the note without saving, for I knew there was no point of doing all that. With a palpitating heart, I got up and ran through the huge glass window of my living room, falling down from the third floored apartment, where I lived. The street felt like a river of blood until I fell unconscious. I was dead, at least that was what I thought.