The year I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression, I became the family’s most fragile treasure. All the sharp objects in the house were confiscated. The windows were welded shut. My parents took turns watching me, a 24-hour vigil against the slightest flicker of self-harm in my eyes. To manage my fragile emotions, they even forced my brother, Sam, who had just gotten into a top university, to defer for a year and come home to help. Until the day of Sam's wedding. The house was a kaleidoscope of festive lights and joyful noise. I looked at the sea of smiling guests and felt the air grow thin, my lungs tightening. I whispered, without thinking, “Mom, I feel… overwhelmed. I need to go to my room.” My mother’s beaming smile vanished, replaced by a terrifying snarl. She grabbed a fruit knife from a platter on the table and shoved it into my hand. “Overwhelmed? If you’re so overwhelmed, then just die!” “This is your brother’s big day! Do you have to ruin it? Do you have to be the black cloud over everything?” “Here!” She gripped my hand, forcing the blade hard against the skin of my neck. “Cut yourself right here! Stop just talking about how you don't want to live anymore!” Then, with a final shove of disgust, she turned her back on me to raise a toast with her new daughter-in-law. I looked down at the knife in my hand. And finally, I smiled. 1 The cold of the metal seeped into my palm. It was the first time in three years I had touched anything so sharp. It had been so long. For three years, my world had been a world of dull edges. I could only eat with rounded spoons. When my nails grew long, my mother would personally file them down, bit by bit. Even when I showered, the bathroom door had to remain open so they could check on me at any moment. And now, this knife. My mother had placed it in my hand herself. The room was filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses. No one was looking at me. I stared at the knife. I should put it back. Put it back on the fruit platter and pretend none of this happened. My hand lifted slightly, then froze in mid-air. I could hear my brother Sam’s cheerful laugh from the doorway. He was toasting guests, full of life and promise. He’d taken a year off school, a year from the prime of his life, to watch over the “crazy” sister. Now, finally married and starting his own family, he could be free of this burden. Free of me. Looking at all the joy in this room, I suddenly felt so… filthy. I was the only stain on this perfect picture. My presence here made the very air feel thick and suffocating. My mother was right. I shouldn't have an episode today. I shouldn't be the black cloud. I shouldn't be alive. My fingers tightened around the handle. I turned and walked toward my bedroom. I moved slowly. No one noticed. They were all drowning in the happiness of the wedding. Who would pay attention to the comings and goings of a mental patient? I entered my room and gently closed the door. The noise from outside was instantly silenced. I leaned against the padded wall, my body sliding down until I was sitting on the thick carpet. I raised the knife and held it to my throat. My hand was shaking violently. Not from fear, but from excitement. It was a physiological euphoria, the thrill of a prisoner about to break their chains and find ultimate freedom. Over the past three years, I had imagined my death countless times. I thought about drowning, about hanging, about swallowing pills. But every attempt was discovered, followed by even stricter surveillance, by more hysterical crying. “Annie, what do you want from us? Are you trying to kill your mother?” “Annie, we gave up everything for you! Your life isn't your own, it belongs to this family! How can you be so selfish?!” “Sis, I’m begging you, just be okay, please? Mom and Dad are getting old, they can’t take this…” Today, I would finally be free. Mom, you told me to die. You handed me the knife yourself. I’ll be a good girl. I’ll listen. The sharp edge kissed my skin. My wrist jerked with force. A wet, tearing sound. Then, a gush of warmth. I opened my eyes. Blood splattered across the wall and floor, like crimson flowers bursting into bloom. So beautiful. My strength drained away with my blood. I collapsed onto the floor, curling into a ball. So cold. So this is what dying felt like. I looked at my blood-soaked hands and managed to pull the corners of my mouth into a smile. My brother’s wedding. I celebrate it with my life. The debt I owe my parents for raising me. I repay it with my death. From now on, you won’t have to take turns watching over me. You won’t have to live in constant fear. You won’t have to feel ashamed in front of our relatives. You won’t be crushed by the weight of my medical bills. You are free. And I… I am free, too. My consciousness began to blur. The laughter from outside sounded distant and muffled. “To the happy couple! May you have a long life together and beautiful children!” “Cheers!” So lively. At the very end, I thought I heard my mother’s laugh. It was a sound I hadn't heard in a long time—a laugh that came from the heart. 2 I was dead. But it seemed I wasn't entirely gone. My body felt weightless, hovering in mid-air. I looked down at the crumpled form in the corner. Blood was still seeping out, ever so slowly, soaking the carpet in a wide, dark stain. This was a wool rug. It would be impossible to clean. Mom was obsessed with cleanliness; this would drive her insane. I tried to crouch down and wipe it, but my hand passed straight through the floor. I couldn’t touch anything. I stood awkwardly beside my own corpse. After a while, I heard footsteps outside the door. My father's voice, brimming with unconcealed joy, drifted in from the living room. “What a perfect day! Just perfect!” “Everyone was saying how graceful and lovely Grace is. The family really looked good today!” My mother's voice was hoarse, but laced with excitement. “Of course. I picked her, didn't I?” “Alright, let’s open these gift envelopes and tally up the cash.” I floated out of the room and into the living room. The floor was littered with discarded candy wrappers and nutshells. The table was piled high with red envelopes of cash gifts. My father, mother, brother, and his new wife, Grace, were all sitting around the sofa. Their faces were tired, but glowing with satisfaction. It had been so long since I’d seen a scene of such warmth in this house. Ever since I got sick, the atmosphere had been perpetually heavy. When I was around, they didn't dare speak loudly. They didn't dare laugh. Their eyes were always on me, cautious and wary. To see them like this, so carefree and happy… it was good. “Hey, where’s Annie?” Grace, my sister-in-law, suddenly looked around. “I haven’t seen her since the toasts. Is she still in her room?” The air froze for a second. The smile on my mother’s face stiffened, then she scoffed. “Don’t worry about her. She’s in her room, playing dead.” “On a perfect day like today, she just had to throw a fit. She even threatened me with a knife earlier, going on about how she didn't want to live.” “A knife?” Grace looked startled. “I thought there weren’t any knives in the house.” “I gave it to her!” My mother slammed an envelope down on the table. “I just couldn't take it anymore! She threatens to kill herself every single day. So I gave her the knife! I wanted to see if she had the guts to do it! And what happened? She scurried back to her room to hide, the little coward.” I floated in front of my mother, looking at her agitated face, wanting to scream at her. Mom! I wasn't hiding! I did have the guts. I'm already dead. But when I opened my mouth, the sound was like a whisper of wind, vanishing into the air. “Mom, maybe we should check on her,” Grace said, her voice laced with concern. She stood up and glanced toward my room. “Annie hasn’t been well for years. What if…” “What if, what if! There is no what if!” My mother grabbed Grace's arm, her tone harsh. “Grace, you’re new here, you don’t understand. She’s spoiled! It’s all for show, a performance! The more attention you give her, the worse she gets. Trust me. Just ignore her!” My father lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “That girl, Annie… she’s just so selfish. Only ever thinks about her own suffering. Never considers the family.” “Sam’s wedding, the happiest day, and she has to make trouble. Because of her, we haven’t had a single peaceful day in years. Tonight, let her stay in there and think about what she’s done!” I stared at my father in disbelief. He used to dote on me. When I was little and scraped my knee falling off my bike, he would fuss over me for hours. Now my throat was slit open, and he was calling me selfish. I turned my gaze to my brother, Sam. He held a thick stack of cash in his hands, his expression unreadable. He glanced at my closed door, his lips moved as if to say something, but in the end, he just looked down and continued counting the money. “Grace is right, though… Sis’s temper… she really needs to work on it.” My heart—or the ghost of it—clenched violently. Even though it no longer beat, the phantom pain made me curl into myself. So this is what you all think. That even in death, I’m just throwing a tantrum. 3 The leftovers from the wedding feast were spread across the table: roast beef, glazed ham, shrimp, chicken wings, and a beautiful two-tiered cake. It all smelled so good. For three years, to avoid reactions with my medication, my diet had been strictly controlled. Clear broths, plain vegetables. Low-salt, low-oil. I had almost forgotten what meat tasted like. I floated over to the table, greedily inhaling the aroma of the roast beef. “I’ll get Annie something to eat. She hasn’t had anything all day.” Grace, ever the soft-hearted one, picked up a clean plate. She served a large slice of ham and cut a piece of cake. “Grace!” My mother shot to her feet and snatched the plate from her hands. With a loud clatter, she dumped the plate, and all the food on it, into the nearby trash can. “She gets nothing!” My mother was shouting now, her chest heaving. “I’m putting my foot down right now. Nobody is to bring her any food! Let her starve for three days! Let’s see if she has the energy to cause any more trouble then!” Grace was stunned into silence, standing helplessly. “Mom, what are you doing…?” “I’m doing this for her own good!” My mother pointed a finger at my bedroom door. “If she doesn’t learn her lesson, she’ll never understand how much this family has sacrificed for her!” “She’s spoiled rotten! She thinks the whole world owes her something! So what if she’s sick? So what if she has depression? Is anyone’s life easy?” I knelt by the trash can. I looked at the ruined piece of cake. I reached for it, but my hand grasped only air. I couldn’t even eat garbage anymore. I hugged my transparent knees and buried my face in them. It’s okay. I can’t feel hunger anymore anyway. It’s really… okay. The night deepened. A faint, metallic smell of blood began to permeate the air. My mother sat on the sofa with Grace, still talking. “Grace, honey, I’m not a monster-in-law. I’m just… I’ve been pushed to my limit.” “You have no idea what these last few years have been like. I couldn't sleep for more than an hour at a time. I had to listen for her even when I was in the bathroom. One minute she’s trying to jump out a window, the next she’s trying to bash her head against a wall. I’ve been stretched so tight for so long, I feel like I could snap at any second.” Grace listened quietly and poured her a glass of water. “I understand, Mom. Taking care of a sick person isn’t easy.” “But… the look in Annie’s eyes today. It was real despair. That kind of look… it didn’t seem like an act.” My mother paused, holding the glass. She gave a bitter smile. “Despair?” “When is she not in despair? Ever since she got this illness, it’s like she became a different person. Annie used to be such a good girl. Good grades, so pretty. If it weren’t for this… she’d be married with kids by now…” “Back then, all the neighbors were jealous of my daughter. Now? They all whisper behind my back. The pain in my heart… you have no idea.” I hid in the corner, watching my mother’s tear-streaked face. I’m sorry, Mom. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten sick. I shouldn’t have turned from that perfect daughter into this useless burden. I knelt on the floor and bowed my head deeply in her direction. Though I made no sound, I bowed with all my might. I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry, Sam. Your suffering is over now. The daughter who disappointed you, the ghost that haunted you, is gone. She’s really gone.
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