Disclaimer: This will contain violence, self harm, and deep emotional distress. If any of these bother you, please do not go any further. The story of Mary is sad, but I see her story in so many out there. The profound sadness of a life gone wrong. This is to show that all the money in the world can’t make someone happy. Is this the end? We shall see. The readers will make this interactive as to whether she comes back from this, or she takes her rightful place in the ground next to her grandfather. I am not doing this to shame any of the other participants. I thank god for each of you. Mary wouldn’t be who she is to me if not for you, so thank you. I love you all more than you know.
It wasn’t one thing that brought her to this point. It was a combination of the events of her life that brought Gypsy to the cold bathroom floor. The perfect little girl. Ponies, parties, and manners that would make any parent proud, it wasn’t till she learned that being female was a curse did she fall.
Every label took her to where she was right now. In the middle of a truck stop bathroom in Barstow California. Her Porsche parked outside, she was out of place, and out of time. Living proof that you could die from heartbreak. Don’t let those Doctors fool you. A broken heart is cancer that no pill can cure.
Living isn’t easy but dying, this was a piece of cake. Not the basic vanilla kind. The rich double chocolate with buttercream frosting cake. She was going to do this with a bang. Show the world that the little rich bitch could do something right if she tried. Her family name was cleared. The statement she gave to the cops would clear the Kennedy name and allow her brother his Presidential run. Hell, he might even get it because people felt sorry the Kennedy curse once again hit. Her mother would have her loving piece of a shit husband back, and little Mary, she would be the sad girl who couldn’t cope with life.
The door to that small bathroom locked, she sat in the middle of the cold tile floor. In front of her, a small bag that contained her fate. Laughing, she even dressed for the occasion. A silk pink Versace dress. One of a kind designer. Her heels, 2 grand. Whoever found her would probably steal them. That right there made this entire night laughable. Stealing the shoes from a dead Kennedy.
A bang on the door shocked her. It was fucking 2 am, who the fuck needed to use this shit hole of a bathroom. “Go away. Use the fucking men’s room,” yelling out, the young blonde prayed that they didn’t bring the cops or someone else there. Fuck, this might not go as planned if they did.
The small bag contained four things. A picture of her grandfather, her wedding ring, a yellow rose, and a razor. She remembered what someone told her once about slitting your wrists. “Up and down the street. Never cross the road if you want to do it right.”
Cross-legged, Indian style, her hands shook when she poured the contents on the floor. The ring a little clink when it hit the floor, She picked it up, slipping it on her finger. It was bigger now. She had lost weight in the last month. Ten pounds of stress was gone. The yellow flower, well that was because it was her funeral flower, and the picture, that was her Papa. She missed him every day of her life. The razor blade was for the obvious.
Twirling the metal sharp between her fingers, she thought about many things. The main one was how the pain would be gone finally. Mary would finally be free. Daddy couldn’t touch her anymore, she would no longer be the bad guy in a marriage gone wrong. Her family, well they would be fine. All of them so self-absorbed in their own lives that she wouldn’t be the joke of them all now. She would be with her grandfather and her child. She would finally be where she belonged. She should have died months ago, but fate brought her back. This time, no one could.
The first movement of the razor over her arm didn’t hurt. She felt beautiful. It was euphoric. A rush of pleasure, the scent of blood, and she had taken another strike at her arm. The flesh peeling to the side, that one hurt, but she was free. They couldn’t hurt her anymore. No one could hurt her again. She was free from the pain of life. Finally free.
Blood pooling on the white tile, she laid back, closing her eyes as she clutched the letter to whoever found her. She was free and it felt incredible.
“My name is Mary Elizabeth Kennedy. I am 18 years old and today, I took my life. Not because I wanted to die, but because it was time. I know how hard I have made life for my family and they deserve to be free from the sickness of me.
My ex-husband, he… he already is free. Forever and always. I never touched another. I kept my vows.
My friends, I will miss you the most. I love you all, and you’ve helped me hold on this long.
To whoever finds me, I’m sorry. By the way, the shoes are 2 grand. Take them for having to find me here. I never wanted to do this, but I can’t take the pain any longer. It hurts. My heart hurts. “
It was signed and held tight to her body. Eyes closing, she felt at peace. No more pain. She was no longer a failure at life. Maybe if there is a heaven, she will find someone to love her, but then again, suicide is a sin and she knew where she was going.