Elegy

 

This process had been going on for several years. A process that was destroying me from the inside. Do you know that overambition is dangerous? Especially with parents? I know. I learned it the hard way. It's not pleasant. Plus, my entire life is one long series of failures and losses. I'm not happy. And I don't think I ever have been.

I thought my parents would relent when I went to high school, where they wanted me to be. I hoped they'd leave me alone. I took a beating every day for my brother, who had the sense to run away and never show up again. But they kept putting pressure on me. According to them, I should go to law school. So what if I hate law and don't want to become a damn lawyer or take over my father's business! I want to be an actor... Make a life in the theater. Or a writer... Writing is my escape. I wander through perfect worlds of my own creation... I'm surrounded by perfect people... In these worlds, I love and someone loves me... What a shame it's only my imagination...

And if that weren't enough... I fell in love... I fell in love... God, how it hurts... I'd rather have a heart of stone than feel what I feel every time I look into those deep, almost navy blue, almond-shaped eyes... And I know they'll never look at me with the same devotion I do. Sometimes I want to scream at the top of my lungs, drowning in that bottomless navy pit: "I love you! May the sky fall on me and the earth crack beneath me for those words, but I love you!" I wouldn't dare...

Since I was seven, my time has been planned from start to finish. Piano lessons, private tutoring in English, German, and lately even French. Zero time for myself. For friends, whom I practically didn't have anyway.

This state of affairs lasted a long time. Dangerously long. Because, in the end, I was sent to a private, elite boarding school. There I discovered the taste of friendship and platonic love. Even though there was a ton of cramming, I felt freer and happier than ever... I shared a room with two boys. Looking at one of them, Mateusz, I often wondered if it was possible for anyone to have eyes like his. Unearthly. Unreal. The color of the western sky when the sun rises and pushes the night beyond the horizon...

We were performing a play at school. Written by me and my friends from the drama club. A play about death, oblivion, hope for a better tomorrow, and a broken life. One day, as I was falling asleep, I half-consciously thought that this play was about me...

The long-awaited day of the play's premiere had arrived. Our big, groundbreaking evening. Everything promised to be wonderful! The elaborately crafted sets, our costumes, the props...

We began. I was just delivering my monologue, sitting cross-legged on a large oak table, when the door burst open and my father stormed into the room, as nervous as I'd ever been. A shiver ran through me, and only a loud whisper from beside me reminded me that I'd stopped mid-sentence. In that scene, I was supposed to be moved, not to cry or despair… but despite that, real tears were streaming down my cheeks in a steady stream… I was afraid.

In that moment… everything ended… everything…

When the play ended, my father wordlessly dragged me to the car and drove me home. When I heard what they had to say… it was like a death sentence… They said, "You're going to school in Warsaw. No talking." I protested! But it was all for nothing… My fault. I ruined everything myself… I wasted it… When I think about it now… I feel like disappearing, never having been born…

God…

"Adrian?" – my father's sharp – uncaring – SHARPNESS voice resounds behind me. I ignore him. I continue standing motionless by the window, clenching my fists tightly and cursing silently.

"Son," the old man repeats. "You know very well..." Oh, his tone has softened a bit. "Mom and I..." He almost touched me! He reaches out to put his hand on my shoulder, but I recoil and growl,

"Don't touch me..."

Dad sighs,

"What am I supposed to do with you?

" "Utterly ruin my life! You're so close," I shout suddenly.

"What are you...?"

"Send me to Africa! No... to...

" "Stop," my father says in a warning tone.

"I know! The North Pole! There's no theater there, no teachers, no stupid schools! There's nothing there! Just ice and snow!"

Suddenly, the old man jumps up and slaps me across the face. It hurts, it stings, but it has the desired effect. In that moment, all the steam, all the anger, escapes me. I don't want this, but I start to cry. I can't stop myself.

"Believe me, son. You left us no choice," says my father, his voice as cold as ice.

"You could have grounded me," I begin in a trembling whisper. "You could have beaten me... But why... why...

" "It was the only way out. We have many plans for you, many hopes. You know that in the future you'll take over my company. You'll be its CEO. But for that to happen, you have to try. You have to get a thorough education, understand?

" "But I don't want that kind of life! I want to decide for myself! Take care of my own fate! Others have it better! Their father doesn't send them to private schools, and in the damn capital, at that! No one plans their lives. They have a normal... home..." and here my voice breaks. I can't say anything, I can't. I struggle to force a few feeble words out. "Dad... please! Everything, everything! Just don't send me there... Have mercy... Dad, please...!"

It doesn't bother me that I'm begging him like a starving dog for a scrap of meat. It doesn't matter now. It doesn't matter to me. Whatever he does—however he reacts—I hate him with all my heart.

But he won't soften, oh no, quite the opposite. He has a sense of power, of superiority. It wouldn't be like him to answer, "YES." So he says curtly,

"No," and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

I feel anger surge through me again. I grab a pillow, press it to my face, and start screaming, screaming, screaming... I can't stop, and my screaming turns into a pitiful cry. Yes. I think I'm pathetic. Because I can't stand up to my father. But I'm just... I'm too weak... Now I understand I can't appease him.

If only I hadn't pushed myself into this stupid play, hadn't written this damn script, I'd be sleeping in my room right now, in my beloved school. In the morning, a quick chemo review with Mateusz, breakfast with the boys, and...

When I think about it, I feel like I'm going crazy! But instead, I'm overcome with the blues.

Various thoughts race through my head, but one prevails. And nothing will stop me now...

The red letters on my alarm clock glow in the darkness. It's 1:57. God, where did all those hours fly by? But... yes... This is a good idea, a good time...

I go to the bathroom. I lock the door from the inside. I search the shelves. I look for something...

There it is. The razor blade reflects the lamplight. I take off my shirt. I look at my hands. I look closely at the thick veins clearly visible under my skin. I press the sharp edge against the thick palm of my hand. I press lightly, and with manic fascination, I watch as my skin bends and cracks under the pressure of the blade. It hurts, but I ignore it. A purple drop escapes and runs down.

I press the razor blade harder. I see it slide smoothly into my flesh. I pull toward myself, slicing the vein lengthwise, not across. Blood flows in a thick stream. It hurts like hell. I bite my lip hard. I reach my elbow. A pool of blood forms beneath my feet. I start to cry. But I've gone too far to stop now and live as if nothing had happened.

My head spins. I transfer the razor to my other hand. I sit on the floor. My feet are immersed in the crimson of my unwanted blood.

I slit the veins in my other wrist. I rest my hands on my knees. I watch the blood trickle down my legs. My vision blurs. I put the razor down.

Just a moment... Just a moment and it will all be over...

I lie down on the cold tiles. I don't have the strength to rise. I close my eyes. I begin to drift off. In my mind's eye, I see the face of the person I could live for. And for whom I have truly lived until now... And those eyes... those beautiful, wonderful eyes... what a shame I won't see them again...

I cry. I don't have the strength to fight anymore.

I will watch over your sleep... - I whisper silently.

I'm dying. I'm not afraid of that.

Before I breathe my last, before I look at the bathroom ceiling for the last time (God, why does everything wobble, spin, and lose color?), the will to live still resonates within me; I scream in my mind: " I DON'T WANT TO DIE! "...

...but it's too late... Too late to fix anything... Too late to turn back time... Forgive me my stupidity... forgive me, all of you I've loved... And you, my blue-eyed Angel... You especially forgive me, for I love you most... Farewell...

" Before you fell, you crossed the earth with your hand .

Was it a bullet, my son, or was it your heart that broke? "

(KKBaczyński - "Elegy about... (a Polish boy)")