Trigger warning: This story contains sensitive content related to suicide, including discussions of suicidal thoughts and behaviors. Reader discretion is advised. If you or someone you know is in crisis, please seek support from a trusted individual or contact a mental health helpline immediately.
“There is nothing wrong with me…but there's something wrong with the world.”
Amber sank back into the chair, her gaze drifting to the soft carpet beneath her feet. She spoke softly, her voice weary.
“Why do you say that?” Dr. Marie, her therapist, asked.
“I think we give the world too much power; in return, it finds ways to hurt us.”
The doctor paused, her pen hovering slightly above the notebook before she set it down. With a swift motion, she removed her glasses and placed them on the table between them. “What makes you say that?” she asked, her voice raw and poignant, as though the professional façade had been discarded. “Do you feel disappointed?” she asked without tearing her gaze away.
Amber dipped her head slightly, the truth shimmering in her eyes. “Of course,” she swallowed hard, “…I’ve never really stopped…” Her voice broke, and she choked on her tears mid-sentence. “…I’ve never really stopped feeling that way.” Her words were barely a whisper, stemming from her soul. It felt like a sacred confession, as though she was slowly coming to the realization herself.
“We’ve talked about this,” the doctor said, coughing slightly as she regained her composure in the dimly lit room. Shadows seemed to pry at the walls, lingering just outside the closed door. “You can’t blame yourself for everything, Amber. The world is cruel…it always has been.” Her voice was low and heavy as she reached for the open notebook once more. The page remained blank; she hadn’t written a single thing during this meeting.
Amber wished she would, as it might have distracted her from the oppressive silence that filled the room. It was the first time in that office when the lights were low, the shutters were down, and the only sound was the prickling silence that seemed to hush her thoughts, leaving her mind empty with dread.
It was the first time with Dr. Marie’s glasses down, the first time sharing her misery with a friend, not just a counselor.
“You know some of it was…is,” Amber's sobs poured out in her hands as she struggled to sit still. Her legs shook involuntarily, betraying her fear. She wiped the tears quickly with the back of her hand before looking up to meet the old woman’s gaze. “You’ve wanted to say that since the first time I walked in here, just say it.”
“Okay…maybe…maybe some of it could have been avoided,” the doctor said without hesitating. “You could have evaded some things but you enjoy it and this self-reproach won’t soften the feeling.” Her voice cracked at the end, softening like a mother who had realized they were being too hard on their child.
“It was…” Amber sighed, her shoulders relaxing as a hint of color returned to her pale face. Her eyes met the doctor’s, and for a moment, there was a spark of clarity. “Sometimes I think I revel in my misery. Sometimes it feels daunting to get up every morning and come here, only to be reminded that I’m broken when I don’t think I want to be fixed.” Her gaze flickered to the bulb before returning to the doctor. “I don’t think I want to be fixed,” she repeated, her voice drifting through the air like a ghost’s whisper on the wind. It was a soft sound, belying the weight of her admission.
The doctor scribbled something roughly on the page. She wrote the first line with her head lowered, then lifted her gaze to her patient, the light glinting in her eyes as she penned the second line. “No one is trying to fix you, Amber. We’re only trying to help you see things differently.” She looked away briefly. “You are a victim of assault and trauma. You were abandoned and hopeless as a child. You have deep wounds from your childhood, from poverty, from the fear of the future and the world, yet here you are.”
She shifted comfortably in her chair. “It seems to me that you don’t want to accept that life is trying to comfort you now. You didn’t believe things could get better, and now that they are, you feel like an imposter—you want to ruin it.” The doctor studied her with a level gaze before continuing. “Over the last two years, you have had three suicide attempts. You are trying so hard to die, but the world wants to keep you alive!” Her tone was firm but laced with empathy.
Amber chuckled and rested back. “I am not surprised,” she scoffed. “You are one of them.”
“One of what?”
“One of those people who believe that all suffering is for a great cause,” she blinked, looking away. “Then I wouldn’t think you have grieved enough to know that nothing justifies this woe. Right now, it might seem that I have something to grasp, but years back I had nothing. And how badly I wanted to leave this place.” She laughed bitterly, wiping a tear from her cheek. “The world was laughing at me, scowling at my pain and who I had become. But it was all for a great cause?” She clicked her tongue. “If that were true, it would have let me go. My misery would have ended instead of being prolonged. Now, I don’t want its gifts. My resentment only grows because I can’t find joy in whatever lies ahead. It doesn’t matter what great magic awaits. I AM DONE.”
“You can’t say that,” the doctor leaned forward, her eyes softening with kindness and mournful empathy.
“Surely I can,” Amber spoke courageously, the word perfectly articulated. “I don’t want any of it,” she scorned. “… the longer I stay here, the more my resentment festers. It is only wise for the world to let me go, it is only wise that my story is erased. There is no greatness lying ahead that will pardon the misery life thrust upon me.”
Amber glanced at the bulb once more, watching a moth dance around its light. “Hope,” she started softly, “…hope is something I have never carried. Now,” she said, resting her hands on the sides of the chair, “you agree, don’t you? I don’t want to live, doctor, just to be another good story. History has enough of those.”
“You cannot despair!” The doctor cried out in anguish, setting the book aside.
“You have helped me, Dr. Marie, truly,” a tear cascaded slowly down Amber's cheek. “And you are wrong. We have made great progress. The first day I came here, I had no idea of the true extent of my misery,” she sniffed. “But now I know. I know that it is just enough for me to accept that this bitterness will never leave. It is only best I put an end to it. And you know that too.”
“You cannot say that.” The doctor had lost her poise; her hair was disheveled from running her hand through it in frustration. A tear glimmered in her eyes, and it seemed like, for the first time, she was drained of all the hope she had.
“But it is the truth!” Amber said, finality in her voice as she pushed herself off the chair. “Terrible things were done to me. The past wasn’t friendly, but it was all I ever knew. I had no hope as a little girl, and it isn’t fair for you to ask me to have some now. I did terrible things; I have done terrible things to myself because, again, it is all I have ever known. If this feeling worsens, I am a danger not only to myself but to other people as well.” She picked up her coat and purse. The light bulb flickered above her head, and it only seemed to grow dimmer.
The doctor was too stunned to utter a word. She stared in horror and discomfort as her patient got ready to leave.
“Amber,” the doctor called softly. “Please, sit,” she urged. “Let us go over this one more time. I think I might have messed up.”
“Dr. Marie, don’t blame yourself for anything. I think it is pointless to fix a broken vase when you can get a new one. But it is beautiful to have people like you sharing their hope. But I cannot accept it,” Amber said, her hands intertwined in front of her. “Someone else might need it.” She pulled down the door handle, adjusting her heavy coat.
“But…”
“It was nice knowing you, doctor!” Amber sang before scurrying down the hallway.
The doctor froze, her heart thudding in her chest. She, too, noticed the light dimming down, a moth fluttering outside the window. Her mind wrestled with Amber’s truth, her rationale. It seemed ridiculous to entertain the thought that Amber might be right, but a morally objective part of her questioned otherwise. She breathed deeply, her hands tightening around the sides of her chair before finally getting up.
The silence that followed Amber's leaving was shattered by the stirring sounds of the city outside. She steadied her breathing, only to be jolted by a loud crash that disoriented her. Her stomach dropped at the sound outside the window. She knew.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway, growing louder until her door was pushed open. A morbid-faced figure stood in the doorway. “Your patient,” he began solemnly. “…she walked in front of a moving truck.”
For a brief moment, everything stopped, and the only sound she could hear was the loud, fastened beating of her heart. The bulb flickered, its light dimming, before finally going off.
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