When I was five, I witnessed a murder

TW: blood, suicide, dissociation

When I was five years old, I first witnessed a murder.

It wasn't the usual murder of an individual or a mass shooting;

none of that kind.

It was a soul suicide.

Something in me died on July 22nd and I observed it from outside of my body.

It's proven psychologically that when one has a traumatic experience in life,

they tend to disconnect from their persona and overlook their mechanical body hurting.

When I was five years old, I first realized how pretty I was.

I looked down at my body and forgot all about my insecurities.

My imperfections made me who I am.

My miniature frame softly planted on the cold bathroom floor,

my brown hair wet from the water I had spilt earlier.

My hazel eyes, two empty looking glasses, and my sewn mouth.

I tried to reach out and touch my fingers, but I didn't feel them.

They simply went through them like I didn't even exist.

When I was five years old, I first welcomed the idea of nothing being real.

I didn't feel my surroundings.

I couldn't control other people's thoughts,

and I felt locked inside my mind,

an endless maze of millions of wasted opportunities and black-and-white dreams.

It was an invisible, metal cage not letting me keep on living.

When I was five years old, I first regretted being born.

I didn't ask to be born in the first place.

I didn't consent to being born.

My young brain could analyze it that my parents violated me by giving me birth.

When I was five years old, I first thought of dying.

The thought stabbed my mind and made it bleed.

The blood dripped along my arms,

my stomach,

my thighs,

my knees,

my feet.

It was warm.

I put my red fingers to my lips.

It had an addictive taste that actively corrupted the maze I had built in my mind.

When I was five years old, I first committed murder.