Title: Suffer in Silence
Author: kitchune
Rating: PG13
Pairing: None (amazing I know!)
Warnings: death of character (*cries*)
Summary: Emotional short story. (Okay emotional for me because I was dimwitted enough to listen to sad music while writing it.)
POV: Spencer Reid.***
Depression they call it. I snort at that. Personally I can describe it in one simple word. Death. I've been through a lot in my life, and I've dealt with it on my own terms. I have put everything behind me, told myself that my future would be brighter. I mean look at me, I'm a child prodigy, a complete and utter genius. How could someone like me not have a bright future?But I think that all the things from my past have finally caught up to me. My mom developing schizophrenia, dad leaving, me being bullied my whole life, worrying about schizophrenia surfacing in me, and more. That's a lot to put on a kid in my opinion, but I always pushed past it, told myself it would be okay. That everyone had to deal with these kinds of things throughout their lives.Except I have realized one crucial thing. Most people don't go through things like that. At least not all put together. So I had to deal with all of this. And try and push past it, by myself, not seeking help because I was too sure I had overcome those past events.Clearly I have not, because if I had prevailed over them I would not be sitting here in this bathroom at this very second. Thinking of doing what I was thinking of doing. I pressed the object a little harder against my skin. The sharp prick almost felt like heaven to me and the best part was I hadn't even pushed hard enough to break my skin yet.It all started when I watched mom get more distant from reality. How she would randomly shout things out or forget that I was even there. Since I was such a genius I had an idea of what was happening and I was scared to death.Day by day it got worse, as did the horrific ache in my stomach. Day by day I could see the light disappear from her eyes. Sometimes she would still be her old self that glint sparkling in her eyes.But then that one fateful day when I came home she was sitting at the kitchen table, a nonchalant look on her face. That morning before school we had been so excited, it was my first day of high school; I was in my final year at the young age of twelve. But then when I sat beside her a smile plastered on my face I realized something had gone wrong. In fact after about two seconds of studying my mom I came to the conclusion that nothing had gone wrong but my mom had just gone. Away.That year I was the youngest kid in my class to graduate. I was also the only one to stare out into the audience, hoping, wishing to see my mom sitting there. A grin on her face as she saw her one and only son graduate; I could practically imagine her clapping along with everyone else. A video camera would be in one of her hands, recording the magical event just like she used to at all of my spelling bees.But as I went up to receive my diploma and I looked out onto the sea of people I realized my mom was not there, she was never going to be, she was gone. She wasn't there cheering for me. She wasn't there to hug me and congratulate me like all the other parents were doing for their children. And she wasn't going to walk through the doors either.Sure I could always have visited her and showed her my mark of accomplishment but she would never really notice even if I did. It was all so useless. But instead of giving up I just smiled like everyone else and walked back to my seat.When I got home it was a different story. I raced to my bedroom and lay in my bed for hours, crying my heart out. Wondering what it would have been like to have my mom there. To have my dad there. Like all the other kids. To have my family watching me as I made my way up onto the platform to grab my diploma. But that could never happen. Dad left a long time ago. Mom was in the hospital. And I was alone.Just like now in fact. I am all alone with the blade pressed against my skin. I thought of taking pills, it doesn't take a genius to know they would be a lot quicker and less painless but in a way I want the pain. I crave the pain, as if it is my only way to escape from this torture.My tears cease as I look at my figure in the mirror, slouched over, hollowed eyes, emotionless expression. Just like death. The only thing that is a bit attractive in the mirror is the blade between my fingers. My lips rise up into a small smirk as I look down, my attention completely focused on the blade as the high points in my life flash before me.Then I push the blade, loving the feel of blood dribbling down my arm. My smirk becomes wider as I pull the blade downwards, making the cut longer. I feel myself getting weaker until the only thing keeping me up is the wall. I look into the mirror once more and I almost cry at the sight.No wait! I don't want to die! I've survived this long! I can't die! I have so much to live for! To look forward to! Marriage, love, children, work, everything! Tears begin running down my face again as my smirk disappears. I reach onto the count clumsily trying to reach my cell phone but because of my frantic movements I fling the phone to the phone.I try reaching towards the phone with my good arm, heaving forwards on my belly as I scream in frustration. My breath is rushed as I feel my body start to give away underneath me. No! How could I be so stupid? Why would I allow myself to do this? I was supposed to be a genius! I can no longer move and my eyes begin to close. Silence echoes around me as I lay there, my body shuddering from the lack of blood.I was supposed to be a genius. But even I couldn't figure out that my whole life I was suffering within the silence.