I have severe depression, but my mom doesn't believe me. Even though she’s a renowned psychologist. Lately, the urge to end it all has become overwhelming. I constantly fantasize about a peaceful world waiting for me on the other side. A world that waves to me, saying: "Child, come here. Everyone here loves you." When I stood on the edge of the rooftop, the last shred of survival instinct in my heart urged me to call her. "Mom, if I died, would you miss me?" If she had said just one sentence—"Honey, don't scare Mommy"—or showed even a flicker of nervousness, I would have lost the courage to jump instantly. But the voice on the other end said: "If you want to die, hurry up and do it. Stop using this to..." My courage to live crumbled into dust. Before she could finish her sentence, I hung up. Then, I spread my arms. And I jumped. Mom, I listened to you. I hurried up and died. I didn't waste a single second. Are you happy now? 01 It took four days for my body to be found. That was much sooner than I expected. I chose an abandoned construction site on the outskirts of the city. It hadn't changed in five years; nobody ever went there. The ones who found me were a young couple, urban explorers. They told the police: "We heard this place was spooky, wanted to take some photos for Instagram." "We come here every few months just to look around." "When we walked past the main structure today... we saw the body." The girl was pale, gagging into her hand. The guy looked terrified too, forcing himself to stay calm while gripping the girl's hand tightly, trying to comfort her. I sighed and offered a silent apology. Four days in the summer heat. My body was decomposed. I definitely didn't look pretty. "I'm really sorry I scared you," I said sincerely, even though they couldn't hear me. My mom always said I was a burden. Looks like she was right. Even in death, I’m scaring people and causing trouble. After I was found, the Grim Reaper didn't come for me. Another wandering spirit told me my "attachment" to the living world was too strong. I couldn't cross over yet. I asked him, "What about you? Why are you still here?" He nodded slowly. "I'm waiting for the love of my life." He told me that after death, you start to forget your life. The longer you stay, the more you forget. He couldn't remember anything now except his lover's face. He just drifted through the city, hoping to catch one glimpse of her. I tried to recall my past. Sure enough, things were getting fuzzy. To get rid of my attachment and cross over, I had to go back to my mom. She was in her office, seeing patients. Sitting across from her was a mother and daughter. The teenage girl looked defeated, radiating gloom. Her mother, however, was impatient. Even in the therapy room, she couldn't stop berating her child. "I really don't get you. I put a roof over your head, I feed you. What is there to be unhappy about?" "All day long you cause drama. Now you're using suicide to threaten me?" "You cut your wrist? Really?" "If you really wanted to die, why didn't you just jump off a building? That would be quick!" "You're just embarrassing me!" The girl closed her eyes. The despair on her face deepened. "Ma'am!" My mom shouted, slamming her hand on the desk. "If you still want a daughter, shut your mouth right now!" "What, will you only be happy when you've pushed her to the grave?" "If she actually jumps because of your words, there is no medicine in this world that can cure your regret!" The woman was intimidated by my mom's fury. She pouted, dismissive. "Impossible. Don't I know my own kid?" "She's a coward. She wouldn't dare jump." My mom got angrier, pointing at the door. "Either be quiet or get out!" The woman looked embarrassed but finally shut up. Mom turned to the girl, her voice shifting to a gentle, warm tone. "Sweetheart, do you feel like living is just too hard right now?" "Sweetheart, do you feel like no one understands you?" "Sweetheart..." My mom kept calling her "sweetheart." The girl's expression finally cracked, and she burst into tears. My mom opened her arms and hugged her, gently patting her back. Watching this scene, my eyes stung, but no tears came out. I was just a ghost. Ghosts don't cry. I was so jealous. How long has it been since Mom hugged me like that? Not since Dad died, right? After all, I was the culprit who caused his death. The patient's mother scoffed in the background. "The moment things don't go her way, she acts like she's dying." "Who knows if she's just faking it?" Mom glared at her. "Her 'acting like she's dying' is a cry for help! How is that faking it?" "It's because of parents like you, who always think their kids are faking, that we have these statistics. Do you know how many kids die from depression every year?" That mother didn't know. But I answered silently in my heart. In the US, suicide is the second leading cause of death for people ages 10-14 and 25-34. Tens of thousands a year. I used to memorize these stats from Mom's books. Finally, I became a statistic too. But Mom... My "acting like I was dying" was a cry for help too. Didn't you also think I was just faking it? Oh, I can't blame her. When it comes to faking illness, I have a criminal record. 02 When I was five, I didn't want to go to Kindergarten. So, I lied and said my stomach hurt. To make my parents believe me, I cried snot and tears, rolling around on the bed clutching my belly. They believed me. Dad rushed me to the hospital. But after a full checkup, the doctors found nothing wrong. The doctor saw me jumping around full of energy and winked at my dad. "She's very sick. I think she needs a shot every day for a week." Hearing "shot," I panicked. I was terrified of needles. I grabbed Dad's shirt and hid behind him. "I don't want a shot! My tummy doesn't hurt anymore!" "I was faking it! I just didn't want to go to school!" Dad was relieved. He tapped my nose, helpless but loving. "You little rascal." On the way home, Dad stopped to buy me snacks. It was just a childish prank. But on the drive back, a drunk driver T-boned us. Dad was critically injured. He threw his body over mine. I only got a few scratches. Dad was bleeding out. I was terrified. I crawled over to him. I put my hands on his chest, trying to stop the blood, but it wouldn't stop. I wailed. Dad opened his eyes slightly, looking at me with so much love. "Emily, Daddy's okay. Emily needs to be happy." "Emily, take care of Mommy. You two have to live well." "Don't be scared. Daddy is tired. Daddy's going to sleep. Don't cry... smile. Daddy loves seeing Emily smile." Then, he turned his head, his eyes searching for something. Moments later, he stopped breathing. I realized later he was looking for Mom. He wanted to see her one last time. But he couldn't wait. When Mom arrived at the ER, the doctor pronounced him dead. I knew what death meant. It meant Dad would never wake up. I would never see him again. I threw myself on his body, sobbing. "Daddy wake up! Daddy don't die! I'll never fake a stomach ache again!" "I'll go to school! I promise!" Mom, in her shock, heard my words. She ripped me away from his body. Her eyes were red, staring at me like a stranger. "Your stomach ache... was fake?" "You faked being sick... and you killed your father!" I finally realized the connection. My lie. His death. I stumbled back and fell to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. I whispered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to." Mom rushed at me, gripping my shoulders, screaming into my face. "Your dad is dead because of you! Are you satisfied?" "Emily Feng! I'm asking you! Are you happy now?" "Your dad is dead! Are you satisfied?!" My grandparents had to pry me out of her grip. My shoulders were bruised black and blue. But I didn't dare make a sound. From that day on, Mom never gave me a warm look. Never gave me a hug. Once, I had a fever of 102. I was delirious. The school nurse called Mom. Mom said on the phone: "Are you sure she's sick?" "She's an expert at faking it. She's a good actress. She can trick anyone." The nurse scolded her for being irresponsible and kept me in the infirmary. When school ended, Mom finally showed up. I usually walked home alone. Today, Mom came! I had taken meds and the fever was down. Seeing her car, I ran toward her, thrilled. I was so happy. She must have heard I was sick and got worried, right? Mom still cares about me. I ran to her, looking up. Before I could speak, she slapped her hand onto my forehead. Then, her face went dark. "Emily, sure enough, you're faking it again." "You faked a sickness and killed your dad. Did you forget?" "Who do you want to kill this time? Me?" "Why didn't you die back then instead? You liar. You curse." She got back in the car and drove off, leaving me standing there. My joy turned to ice. When I walked home, the door was double-locked from the inside. I knocked and knocked. "Mom, open the door! I'm sorry! I won't lie anymore!" But the door stayed shut. It was winter. The hallway was freezing. Two hours later, the fever came back with a vengeance. I was burning up but shivering from the cold. I finally passed out on the doormat. The next morning, Nana came to drop off milk and found me unconscious. When I woke up, Nana was yelling at Mom. "Sarah! How could you lock the child out?" "It's freezing! Emily has pneumonia! Don't you have a heart?" Mom's voice was cold. "Emily loves being sick. If she's sick, she doesn't have to go to school. Isn't this what she wanted?" "Besides, who told her to take her coat off? She did it on purpose, Mom. Don't fall for her tricks." I wanted to say I didn't take my coat off on purpose. I wanted to say I didn't like being sick. But meeting Mom's eyes, my throat felt stuffed with cotton. I couldn't speak. Mom sneered. "Emily, you're awake and not speaking? Eavesdropping now?" "Are you happy that Nana is worried about you?" "You really work hard to maintain your lies. Taking off your coat in winter... why didn't you just freeze to death?" She stormed out. Nana wiped my tears with her rough hands. "Emily, don't blame your mother. Since your dad passed, her heart is bitter." Years later, I learned that people freezing to death sometimes feel a paradox of extreme heat right before the end. They strip their clothes off. That winter, I had almost died on our doorstep. After that, I never dared to be sick. If I was sick, I hid it. I endured it. Because in Mom's eyes, I was always faking. 03 My thoughts snapped back to the present. The girl in the office had finished the questionnaire. Mom started lecturing the mother again. "Feeding them isn't enough!" "Mental illness is a real illness. How is being sick embarrassing?" "You're the parent. Why do you care more about your face than your child?" "When a child has issues, every word you say could push them over the edge." "If your daughter does something drastic because of what you said, will you regret it?" Every word she said was correct. But Mom... why couldn't you do it yourself? I did something drastic. You thought I was an embarrassment too. Did you forget? Actually, this wasn't my first attempt. Last time, I stood on the roof of our apartment building. I looked down at the traffic, losing track of time. Someone saw me. The police came. The firefighters put up an air cushion. One firefighter approached me slowly. "Hey kiddo, I came a long way up here. Don't jump yet. Talk to me." "I'm Mike. I know this great burger place down the street." "Their milkshakes are famous. Have you tried them?" "You haven't eaten lunch, right?" "Look, if you're gonna leave this world, at least have a good meal first, right? Don't treat your body badly at the very end." "I'll buy you a burger and a shake. Then you can jump." He distracted me. For a second, I thought he made sense. A burger wouldn't hurt. In that split second of distraction, another firefighter grabbed me. That's when Mom arrived. She pushed through the crowd and slapped me across the face. "If you want to die, do it somewhere quiet! You're embarrassing me!" I immediately stood up and tried to throw myself over the edge again. The firefighters grabbed me tight. "Kid, your mom is just angry, she's worried!" "Don't do it!" Mike pulled Mom aside and scolded her. "Is this how a mother acts?" "Are you trying to force your daughter to jump?" Mom looked at me sideways and sneered. "With all these people watching, she's just putting on a show." "Let her go. I want to see if she actually has the guts to jump!" At that moment, I felt nothing but ash inside. Mike, afraid I would try again, dragged me away and bought me that burger. He saw me clutching a keychain and asked if it was important. I nodded. "My dad gave it to me." He said, "Your dad must love you very much. If you jump, imagine how sad he'd be." I didn't look up. "He won't. He's dead." Mike went silent. After a while, he said, "Emily, your dad wouldn't want you to do this, right?" My mind went back to the car crash. Dad in a pool of blood, holding my hand. Emily, take care of Mommy. Live well. I froze. How could I forget? Dad told me to take care of Mom. I couldn't die. Suddenly, I had the courage to live again. Before we parted, Mike said, "Here's my number. If you feel sad, text me." I smiled and refused. He was such a good person. My darkness shouldn't infect his bright life. When I got home, Mom was sitting on the sofa, face like iron. "Emily, what game is this?" "Trying to tell everyone I treat you bad? That I'm forcing you to die?" I shook my head. She continued, "I don't know who you learned this from. Threatening suicide." "If you have the guts, just die. If you actually died, I might even respect you." I shook my head again and said: "Mom, I won't try again." "I promised Dad I'd take care of you. I'll live." Mom slapped me again. "You dare use your father as an excuse!" "Where do you get the nerve to mention him?" Remembering it now, my cheek still throbs. She hit really hard that day. When I came back to reality, the patients had left. Mom was alone in the office. I really wanted to ask her: Mom, I haven't been home in four days. Are you worried? Her colleagues walked in to chat. "Sarah, did you see the news? A girl jumped off that abandoned building downtown." 04 I made the news? Mom probably didn't see it. She's too busy. But Mom nodded. "I saw it. They're looking for ID. Don't know if they found the parents yet." "I heard she was young. Didn't have a single ID on her." "Even smashed her phone before she jumped." "Poor kid. Must have been hopeless about her family. If her family had given her even a tiny bit of love, she wouldn't have walked that path." My heart ached. Mom, do you think I'm pitiful too? If you had given me just a tiny bit of love, I would have struggled to stay alive! Her colleague said, "The news posted photos of her clothes and belongings. The family should recognize them, right?" Mom nodded in agreement. "Unless they are cold-blooded or don't care about her at all, they'd recognize them." But Mom... you didn't recognize me. I guess you really don't care about me at all. Just then, a receptionist said a firefighter was looking for her. A firefighter? Mom walked out confused. I floated after her. It was Mike. The moment he saw Mom, he asked urgently: "Dr. Miller, where is Emily?" Mom looked surprised. "It's summer break. She should be at home." Mike looked frantic. "I just went to your house and knocked. No one answered!" "Have you seen Emily in the last few days?" Mom asked what was wrong. Mike pulled out his phone. The local news report: Jane Doe found at construction site. Missing persons report requested. Mike pointed to the picture of the keychain. "I saw this keychain in Emily's hand. She told me her dad gave it to her." Mentioning my dad, Mom's face instantly frosted over. "She still has the face to mention her father?" "If not for her, he wouldn't be dead." Mike snapped. He yelled at my mother. "Dr. Miller! Look at the situation! Why are you bringing that up now?" "In the last three or four days, have you physically seen Emily?" Mom frowned, thought for a moment, and then let out a mocking laugh. "You don't think Emily killed herself, do you?" "Someone like her? Impossible." "That keychain? You can buy them at any dollar store. There are thousands of them." "Emily has been sleeping at home every night this week." I didn't understand. Why was Mom lying? I died four days ago. How could I be sleeping at home? Maybe... Mom recognized me, but she didn't want to claim my body. Mike let out a long breath. "Thank god. You scared me." "Sorry, Dr. Miller. My mistake." Mom shook her head, unbothered. Mike hesitated, then added: "Dr. Miller, you're a psychologist. You should be able to tell Emily is struggling, right?" "Please pay more attention to her." Mom's face went ugly again. "Emily is an expert at faking illness. What problems could she have?" Mike wanted to argue, but Mom cut him off. "Like you said, I'm the psychologist. Do you think I wouldn't know if she had mental issues?" Mike paused, said "Excuse me," and left. I looked at his retreating back and whispered, "Thank you." Back in the office, Mom took out her phone. She found the news article. She zoomed in on the keychain. She muttered to herself: "What a coincidence. Looks just like hers." "If only the dead person was Emily. That would be nice." Mom, wish granted. It is me. I thought, if she knew for sure, she'd be happy. Then, Dr. Evans, Mom's colleague, came in. She looked hesitant. "Sarah, I can't reach your daughter, Emily. Can you get a hold of her?"
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