I don’t know if this is something no one is talking about because they are too scared - like me - to speak about or because I am some kind of immortal being that didn’t know about their condition up until now. Maybe someone else has tried and failed - this is mostly why I am writing in an anonymous form - and is way too scared to tell others about the fact that they can’t die, simply because they would look and sound mad. I get it. I don’t know who to tell either. Or how to tell somebody. “Hey, I tried to kill myself, didn’t work. I tried to cut my own veins in the bathtub and I woke up without a single scratch, the water still red from my blood” isn’t a great way to start a conversation.
They would probably call the psych ward. And the police. Probably social services too since I’m underage and my parents didn’t even notice the signs of a suicidal teen. It was supposed to be easy. I got into my bathroom, I have a private one in my room and my parents were out for dinner. They have date nights on Thursday since I can remember. I know I was being a dick doing it on that day, I could just imagine the shock of finding me like that after their perfect night out, but I needed the house for myself, I needed the time to do it with my own pace and also I was trying to be sure that nobody was going to rescue me once I passed out. I had pizza for dinner, watched my favourite move, prepared my favourite bath and got in. The sweet smell of vanilla and the bitter one of iron is the last thing I remember. I had done it perfectly, a clean cut, I had surely lost the right amount of blood in order to die, of that I’m sure. The water was crimson when I woke up and find out I had failed. I opened my eyes I was expecting lights, a hospital, doctors, my parents crying. My heart sank just at the thought of having to see them and have to explain what I had done and why. But no one was there. No parents, no doctors, no hospital. I was in my bathroom. Still naked, still in the bathtub. The sight of water mixed with blood made me gag. I was covered in it, my skin seemed stained by the red liquid. It was like that movie, Carrie.
I checked my arms, nothing. Not one single scratch. No cuts either. It was like I had never slit them in the first place. But the blood was there and it was a bitch to clean up. Blood is not as simple to clean as you think it would.
When I got downstairs to get a glass of water it was almost midnight. The lights were on, my parents had returned in that exact moment. They kissed me, asking why I was still awake, and I manage to blurt an excuse. A nightmare, I said, I needed a glass of water. I had scrubbed my skin so hard it was red, but at least not stained in blood. My nails had been cleaned too. They kissed me goodnight again a couple of minutes later. There was something odd about them, their smile was not quite the same, their eyes not quite as full of life, but why was I expecting? I was up late on a week day and they always know when I’m lying,
It’s been a week. Life is the same, more or less, but I remember distinctively that I was in the bathtub and I died. Contrary to what someone may think, it WAS NOT a dream. I did not made it up in my head. I died. I killed myself and I am still here. I know it sounds crazy but… has this happened to anybody?