I stood on the train tracks, listening to the whistling that warned of an on coming train. This was it; I couldn’t take it anymore. There was nothing left for me here. Home had become a prison, school a form of torture and even the outside world felt closed in. I couldn’t breathe. I needed relief and I needed it now.

Before even stepping on the tracks, I had thought about what I would spend my last moments thinking about. I had originally decided to think about the rare, but wonderful parts of my life. The parts that made me not regret it. But as I stood here I found my thoughts wandering to the times that put me in this situation. Like when my parents got a divorce last year. I remembered the fight clearly. It had been cold inside the house even though it was summer outside. Their screaming had been easy to hear from my bedroom. I never really knew exactly what the fight had been about, but I do remember the sound of my father throwing a lamp on the ground and my mother slamming the door. In my memory, the sounds were less like noises, but more like forces. They all had a domino effect on my life. One slammed into the other and, eventually, they all went spiraling down.

It was because of that fight that my father got remarried to a horrid woman that just added more domino effects to my life. She would often yell at me when my father wasn’t looking and hit me. But it wasn’t what she did that really hurt; it was that my father took her side over mine. I was his own daughter and he had turned his back on me for another pretty face. Clunk. Another domino down.

‘The fight’ was also the reason that my mother was killed. Much like me, she couldn’t stand her life anymore. But instead of at least trying to survive, she quit completely. She abandoned me with my father and the step-witch because she wasn’t strong enough. She was the adult, she was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to be strong for me. One more domino down.

In my time of greatest need, my best friend left me standing alone too. But the reason she left was because of me. I became too whiny, too needy for her style. I guess I never mattered that much to her because she threw me out easily. She could find new friends with a snap of her fingers. I guess loyalty didn’t mean anything to her.

The train is closer now, but, for the first time, I’m not sure. My mind is betraying me and starting to think about how I could make things right. How I could walk into school tomorrow and talk to my best friend. How I could sit down and talk to my father, connect with him in someway. Because maybe I’m not looking for relief, but a connection, a link. Something, or rather someone, to understand me. Even if just for a moment. I know that if I stand in this place any longer all the pain will be over. Every moment of regret forgotten. My funeral would be small, if I even had one. And no one would cry, but would it be worth it? What would I be proving by dying? That I’m weak? That I can’t take whatever life throws at me? Wouldn’t I be stronger for letting the dominoes fall, but surviving anyway? Giving in doesn’t send a message. Standing and fighting, or at least making it to the end of the day, sends the strongest message of all.

Once I realize this, even though the train is a few feet away, even though I’m walking back into pain, I step off the tracks. I stop, take a deep breath, and start walking home. I would survive if for no other reason than to send a message. I would survive to prove a point.