The Beginning

The rain pounded on the roof of the old shed, the bricks used to construct it filled with holes clogged with scrunched-up plastic bags in an attempt to keep the rain and cold out, to little effect. The man inside was my father, drinking straight from the bottle of vodka in his hand, his face a bright red as tears rolled from his eyes.

After a few minutes, a knock came at the wooden door, coated in black paint and also covered in holes, my father quickly hid the bottle before answering the knock, opening the door to see me, around 14 or 15 at the time, caused his eyes to give out, tearing up again before the sobbing ensued.

A few months prior, my mother had broken off their marriage of 14 years due to not being able to care for my father due to his severe alcoholism but still allowed him to live in the garden shed however battered it had become over the years. I admit that I despised her for it, seeing the situation and believing her to be wicked and evil for abandoning the man she was supposed to love when he needed the support more than ever, the man I personally had heard comforting her through rough nights himself in the past

We sat down as I looked around the old structure's interior. Seeing how he was living, a kettle and a quarter-full tin of store-bought instant coffee along with a few instant noodle packets caused my anger to surface again, however, I hadn't let it show. I tried my best to be there for my father, hugging him in my arms as he sobbed for about half an hour, before finally speaking.

"I can't take it anymore, Alex." He started, his face in his hands muffling his sobs as he spoke, "I hate her so much." He continued in a confusing tone I believe to be halfway between anger and absolute anguish.

I didn't understand how this man I had looked up to for so many years, who had provided for me and cared for us could look so vulnerable and defeated. His face was that of a man who wanted his life to end, which he confirmed to me himself.

"I want to die." He said, his sobbing calming, it felt like hours passed in the seconds afterward. My entire world had frozen, the only sound made was the rain's, hitting hard and fast onto the concrete roof.

What felt like an eternity later, despite only being a few seconds, my own sobbing began, uncontrollable distress taking over my mind as I just held my father, not able to say anything as he started repeating the dreaded phrase, "I want to die," as tears ran down his face.

That night was the first of many I cut myself, knowing the man I wanted to rely on so badly was hurting so much made me want to feel the same, I sliced the skin on my wrists with a razor blade, the blood dripping down my arm as I caught it with a piece of toilet paper before it could drip onto any surfaces and leave a stain. I didn't cut very deep though, I was too afraid of death. The idea of no longer existing did and still does terrify me to the core, no matter how much I long for it's sweet embrace.