TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE

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Delilah had always felt like she did not quite fit in. Growing up, she had been the odd one out, with her quirky sense of humor and unconventional tastes. As a result, she had never quite felt like she belonged anywhere, and had always felt a little bit lonely. As she got older, Delilah longed for someone to make her feel wanted, to tell her that she was enough just the way she was. But no matter how many men she dated or how many compliments she received, Delilah still felt empty inside. She had started to feel like she would never find someone who truly appreciated her for who she was. She had finally, at 26, met a man named Damon and married him a year later. Though they had been married for six years, and she appreciated his steady job and kind heart, she couldn't help but feel like something was missing in their relationship. They rarely talked about anything beyond their work schedules, and Delilah longed for a deeper connection with her husband. Despite her attempts to engage Damon in meaningful conversations or suggest new activities they could do together, she always felt like she was met with disinterest or distraction. As a result, Delilah found herself spending more time alone, either engrossed in a book or taking long walks in the park to clear her head.

"Did you say something?" Delilah asked her husband, as she looked up at him from across the kitchen table.

"No, why?" he asked as he read his newspaper.

"Thought I heard something, that's all," she replied as she finished her breakfast. "What time will you be home?" she asked.

"Late," her husband replied. "I'm the lead on that once in a lifetime surgery that is happening today, remember?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. I'm sure you'll do very well," Delilah replied with a smile to which her husband hummed in response as he sipped his coffee.

"Well, I'm off," Damon said as he got up from the table and put on his jacket.

"Alright honey, have a good day I lo-," Delilah started, but her husband had already slammed the door shut, leaving her to finish the rest of her sentence quietly and with a sigh.

As Deliliah cleared the table of her and her husband's breakfast, she couldn't help but be on edge. For months now she had been hearing things. At first it was small. A slight melodic hum that you would hear from the lead of the church choir on some days and a simple buzzing on other days that could have been mistaken for the old refrigerator or passing fly. But then it progressed to inaudible whispers like the ones you hear as the wind runs through the leaves on a cool autumn afternoon. And just when she thought that it was over, when the humming and the whispers had stopped for two days, they started up again and were even clearer now.

"Deliliah." she heard in a woman's singsongy voice.

"I see you."

"I know you can hear me."

Once, she heard, "That top is atrocious.". A thought that could have been her own, but wasn't.

"I'm not crazy," Delilah whispered to herself, only to get the reply, "Oh yes you are," followed by a childish giggle. Later that night when her husband returned, he found her sitting on their bed and typing vigorously on her laptop.

"Why are you still awake?" her husband asked.

"I think I'm going to go see a psychiatrist," she replied as she shut her laptop. "I just made an appointment for Thursday.

"Remind me why you need to do this?" Damon asked annoyed as he collapsed onto the bed.

"I'm still hearing them, babe," Deliliah replied. "They're louder and more frequent than ever," she whispered as she looked around the room.

"Delilah," her husband groaned as he turned away from her.

"I feel like I'm going crazy, Damon. You don't believe me when I say I'm hearing things. My sister doesn't believe me either. If I can get someone to listen to me and help me get to the bottom of this, I will!" Deliliah said, a sense of pleading in her voice as she itched the inside of her elbow.

"You've spoken to Julia?" Damon asked as he sat up, his interest piqued.

Delilah and her sister, Julia, hadn't spoken in years because of an argument that broke out after their mother's suicide. Their mother, Eileen, had suffered from schizophrenia, and when the two sisters found out, they both reacted very differently. Delilah, who had always been her mother's twin, started working two jobs to help cover the cost of her mother's medical bills and medications, as well as dropped out of medical school to take care of her full time. Her older sister, Julia, on the other hand, blamed the mental illness on their mother's drug and alcohol abuse, and refused to, as she had put it, "drop her life for someone who did it to themselves." Delilah and Julia still kept in contact, Delilah updating Julia every once in a while, on their mother's worsening condition, but once their mother had died and Julia learned that she wasn't going to get the house or any of her mother's valuables, she was infuriated and lashed out at Delilah, calling her a "conniving, sneaky, little bitch." The two hadn't spoken to each other since.

"We still aren't on the best of terms after what happened a few years back with mom, but I needed someone to talk to since you won't listen to me. Regardless, Damon, that isn't the point. I'm going to see that psychiatrist whether you like it or not. As a doctor you should be supporting this, not trying to change my mind," Delilah replied.

"Whatever, Delilah," Damon groaned, fed up with his wife's constant whining and complaining about hearing voices.

"What do you mean, "Whatever, Delilah"? What kind of doctor are you, huh? What kind of husband refuses to let his wife get help?" Delilah asked as tears brimmed in her eyes.

"Delilah, I am not in the mood to argue with you right now," Damon warned.

"Do you even care, Damon? My mother didn't get the help she needed until I stepped in. What if I'm in the same situation? What if I need to get help now so that I don't end up like mom? You know how much I miss her, wouldn't you miss me too?" Delilah asked.

"You're right, you sound just as crazy as she was with all this nonsense about hearing voices. It isn't real, Delilah. Stop trying to use this as a way to get attention. That's exactly what Julia said your mother did," Damon replied curtly, cursing to himself as he let that last part slip.

"Damon, you don't mean tha-," Delilah started as the tears began to fall.

"First your mother, now you. I hope you go join her soon," Damon snapped as he got up, grabbed a pillow, and slammed the bedroom door shut, leaving Delilah alone for the night.

When Thursday came, Delilah was eager to get to her appointment with Dr. Allyn and to get away from the persistent voices she kept hearing. As she drove to her appointment, Delilah's stomach was in knots. After she parked her car and headed up to the office, Delilah signed in with the receptionist and took a seat in the lobby. Anyone that looked at her could tell that her heart was fluttering like a trapped bird, her hands as damp as a misty morning. Her foot tapped like a metronome keeping time as her eye darted to her watch every few seconds. She had always been a private person, and the thought of sharing her innermost thoughts and feelings with a stranger was daunting. What if the psychiatrist judged her? What if they couldn't help her? What if Dr. Allyn thought she was batshit crazy? Delilah knew that she needed help dealing with the voices she was hearing, but the prospect of opening up to someone she didn't know was terrifying. Despite her fears, Delilah took a few deep breaths and resolved to give Dr. Allyn a chance. She knew that it wouldn't be easy, but she was determined to do whatever it took to get peace of mind.

"Delilah Hearth?" she heard the receptionist call. With a nod towards the receptionist who told her "Dr. Allyn will see you now.", Delilah entered the very simply designed office with an array of grays and whites and sat down on the couch across from who she presumed to be Dr. Allyn.

"You must be Delilah. I'm Dr. Allyn. How are you doing today?" she asked.

"I've been better," Delilah replied as she nervously looked around the room.

"My file says you're here because you've been hearing things. Do you want to tell me about that? I'll be taking notes if that's alright with you," Dr. Allyn said.

"Sure, that's fine," Delilah replied as she nervously played with her hands. "Well, as your file said, I've been hearing things. It started out as a low hum or a buzz so I figured it must have been the fridge. But then it progressed into whispers and now it's full-on sentences and I think I'm about to lose my mind," Delilah said as she scratched her arm.

"Have you spoken to anyone else about this?" Dr. Allyn asked as she wrote down some notes in her notepad.

"I've told my husband and even decided to confide in my sister even though we rarely speak to each other. No one believes me," Delilah said as tears brimmed in her eyes.

"I see. Do you hear the voices now?" Dr. Allyn asked.

"That's the even crazier thing. I don't. I only hear them when I'm at home or in my car. My job requires me to work from home so I can't even escape the voices when I'm at work!" Delilah exclaimed. "I need help, Dr. Allyn. I need someone to believe me. Tell me you believe me," Delilah pleaded, the scratches on her arms getting worse.

"I believe you Delilah. I believe you are hearing something. And I believe you're hurting yourself because of it," Dr. Allyn replied as she looked at Delilah's arms, long, red scratches that have inked blood littered across her arms, her fingernails painted with the blood she drew. "I'm going to recommend that you stay for a while in our state-of-the-art facility. You'll be taken care of, and we'll get you the help you need. Scratching yourself to the point where you bleed and don't even notice it isn't healthy Delilah. And it isn't something I'm willing to let slide. Here are the forms," she added as she handed Delilah a stack of papers. "Talk it over with your husband. I'd like to get you committed as soon as possible so we can get to the bottom of this."

"Thank you, Dr. Allyn. Thank you for believing me," Delilah said as she bid her goodbyes to the doctor with tears in her eyes.

When Delilah reluctantly returned home, she filled out the paperwork Dr. Allyn had given her, placed it on the kitchen table, and made dinner. She then went down to the basement and grabbed a bottle of red wine, popped it open, and poured a glass for herself and her husband. Sitting at the kitchen table, Delilah's hands quivered like a meter on a seismograph as she stared down at the paperwork she had filled out. She knew that Damon loved her, but she couldn't help but worry about how he would react to this. Afterall, he didn't like the thought of her even going to the appointment in the first place. Would he be angry? Disappointed? Sad? The anticipation was unbearable, and Delilah braced herself for impact for when the tectonic plates of herself and her husband inevitably crashed into each other.

"What's this?" Damon asked as he sat down, fresh from a shower after being on his feet all day.

"I'm getting the help that I need. It'll only be for a month. I'll be back before you know it," Delilah replied as she took a sip of her wine.

"Delilah," Damon began, anger in his voice.

"No, Damon. I don't care if you don't believe me. Dr. Allyn wants to help me, and I am going to get the help that I need whether you want me to or not. For God's sake, Damon, I'm your wife! Don't you care if my mind is healthy or not?" she asked. For the first time since they'd been married, Delilah found it in herself to prioritize her needs and feelings, and to demand the respect she deserved.

"You'll be gone for a month?" Damon asked.

"When do they want you to leave?" he asked.

"I chose to leave tomorrow," she answered. "That was way too easy." Delilah thought to herself. Defeated and knowing that his wife's mind was made up, he replied with a sigh, "I'll drive you."

Delilah, one of the best patients Dr. Allyn has had, spent a month at Patterson and Barkley Mental Hospital. There, Delilah completed her daily exercises and slowly stopped itching herself as the days progressed. Every day, Delilah would do her exercises in the common room of the hospital. Though her mind was still troubled, she refused to let her physical health suffer. She would go through her routine of stretching, yoga poses, and light cardio exercises, focusing on her breathing and finding moments to be a still pond amidst raging rapids. Some of the other patients would stare at her, but Delilah didn't let that bother her. She knew that taking care of her body was an important part of her recovery and that every small step counted. With each passing day, she felt stronger, both physically and mentally, as she worked towards a healthier future.

"I'm happier here. I haven't heard the voices at all since I've been here," Delilah told Dr. Allyn in one of their weekly meetings.

"You've been progressing very nicely, Delilah. I'm proud of you," she replied.

In one of her phone calls to her husband, Delilah, who wasn't met with much enthusiasm from her husband, exclaimed, "I'm doing really well here. I feel like a weight has been lifted from me," she said into the phone.

"That's great, Delilah. Listen, I got to go. I'm getting called in. We'll talk soon," her husband said as he cut their phone call short once again.

"Oh, alright," Delilah replied. "I love you," she said sadly into the dial tone.

When Delilah learned that she was going to be released, she couldn't have been happier. "I finally get to go home with piece of mind and know that I'm not crazy," she thought to herself as she packed her bags. "Now I can work on fixing my marriage since I won't have that goddamn voice in my ear all the time." She knew that her relationship with her husband was worth fighting for, and she was willing to do whatever it took to make it work. Whilst at the hospital, she had read countless self-help books and spoke to Dr. Allyn so she could gain insight and tools to help her communicate more effectively and work through their issues. She was eager to put all she had learned into practice and to see the positive changes in her marriage.

As she left the hospital with Dr. Allyn's kind words of encouragement and her number, she called a taxi to take her home. When she arrived, she looked up at her house and felt small compared to its size. "It'll all be okay," she said to herself as she took a deep breath. When she unlocked the door, she was met with a strong and distinct odor that appeared to be coming from the kitchen. "God, it reeks in here," she thought. When Delilah walked into the kitchen, she was shocked to see a plethora of dirty cups and plates collecting mold on the kitchen counter and the same trash from when she left. "Jesus, it's like he hasn't been here at all," she thought to herself as she began to clear away the mess. After she had finished cleaning, Delilah showered and crawled into her bed, relishing the coolness of the sheets and comfort of her mattress. She smiled to herself as she drifted off to sleep in complete and utter silence.

"How have you been? Anything new happen since I was gone?" Delilah asked her husband the next day.

"Not really. How was it over there?" he asked as he ate his dinner.

"It was good. Really refreshing actually. And now that that's done and over with, I want to focus on us. When are you free to go out? I feel like we rarely spent any time together once all this voice stuff started happening," Delilah replied.

"I've been busy with work, but I'll let you know. This weekend maybe," he replied, not looking up from his phone.

A few days later, Delilah was once again, losing her mind. "This can't be happening," she thought to herself. The voices were back and louder than ever, only saying her name over and over and over again. Delilah tossed and turned each night as she tried to sleep, her name on repeat like a never-ending staircase, each step landing her in the same place. It was all she heard for days on end that even in her dreams the voice seeped in and ruined them with their constant calling of her name.

"Delilah"

"Delilah"

"Delilah"

She invested in noise cancelling headphones so she could do her work in peace, but those had mysteriously gone missing. She would blast music from the TV to drown out the voice, but then her neighbors made too many noise complaints. She shoved cotton in her ears, drank until she started chanting her name alongside the voice, and tried to get out of her house more often, regardless of the frigid weather that had come with the winter. Delilah craved to be at peace. Craved silence to which she would soon have.

A week into the constant cult-like chanting of her name, Delilah was trying her hardest to get her assignment done and sent into her boss before he started having voices tell him he should fire her. But the voice didn't care. It never cared. And today was the day where the voice would be at its loudest as it echoed through the halls of her house and the thickest of walls couldn't keep her safe no matter where she was.

"Delilah" she heard as she typed an email to her boss.

"Delilah"

"Delilah"

"Delilah"

"Delilah"

"Delilah"

"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!" Delilah screamed as she fisted her hair in her hands. "I was fine! I am fine! Just go away!" she cried.

"Delilah"

"Delilah"

"Delilah"

"Delilah"

"I can't do this anymore," Delilah thought to herself. As she got up from her office chair, she went to the garage and searched through her husband's tool kit. "Where is it? Where is it?" she asked herself urgently. When she found what she was looking for she marched upstairs to her bedroom where the voices were most often the loudest.

"Is this what you want?" she screamed. "Is this your goal?" she cried. "Tell me! Answer me!" she yelled. For a moment, the room was silent. She could hear herself breathe. She could hear the cars passing by outside. And then she heard it. Like a message from God, she heard it.

"Do it."

Delilah rushed down to the garage and stood upon a chair. She carefully and meticulously tied the rope she grasped, tears running down her face, on the wooden beam above her. "I can't do this anymore. I can't live like this." she said to herself as the rope hung around her neck like a leash, a reminder that the voices were in control. That the voices owned her and pushed her to this point. "I'm coming momma." she whispered softly as she kicked the chair out from beneath her.

Delilah gasped for air as she clawed at her neck, pulling and prying at the rope as her body and mind fought against itself. Her legs kicked and her body convulsed like a fish out of water, her neck receiving the long scratch marks her arms used to. As she gasped for air, she tried to suck in the musty oxygen that filled the garage like a vacuum, desperately trying to fill her lungs. Her chest began to tighten as the light slowly dimmed from her eyes and then she stopped abruptly. She was still. Lifeless. It was there Delilah hung where her mother once did until her husband came home two nights later.

The following weekend after the funeral, Delilah's husband began to clear out her things with Delilah's sister Julia. As he threw all of Delilah's clothes into a trash bag for the homeless and emptied their picture frames, he smiled at Julia who had been a big help since Delilah first started complaining about the voices.

"Are you okay, babe?" Julia asked Damon as she held the ladder steady for him to climb.

"Yeah," he replied as he reached towards the corner of the wall.

"You don't think they'll ever find out that we, you know," Julia asked in a low tone as she looked around nervously.

"I don't think so. Besides, mental illness runs in your family. Everyone thinks it was just another Tuesday for your family. Plus, it was suicide, and they won't have any proof of this. I'm just happy it's finally over and we can focus on our family," he replied as he glanced down at her stomach with a smile and then continued to take down the speakers and cameras he had hidden around the house.  

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A/N: This is a short story I had to write for my poetry and fiction class. Let me know what you guys think :)