A Sentence

In the morning they’ll see what they’ve done to me, maybe then, they will change. She wrote the mantra with shaking hands, a sentence that had been playing inside of her mind on repeat for quite some time now.

When did it all happen? How could it have come to this? More importantly, why could no one speak up to stop it?

When did the human race become so fucked up to the point where they only cared about their own feelings? How did we adapt to a fight or flight reaction when it comes to considering other people’s emotional ranges? Why did we only learn to care when it’s too late?

Negativity will always weigh more than positivity, which is why we must cling to anything and everything good. It’s much easier to have and keep a negative mindset than a positive one. So why can’t we go the extra mile and do the next kind thing?

All it was, was a sentence inside of a twenty year olds’ head. That twenty year old could have been a stranger, a coworker, an acquaintance, a boyfriend, a brother, a mother, a father, a husband, a wife, or even a child.

A sentence that became the hook of a suicide note. Don’t be so quick to automatically blame the victim, there are many steps and major events that push someone into taking their own life. The worst part is, there are several people that play a part in the story.

Often people will blame the victim of a suicide because they died at the hand of themselves. It’s believed that the guilt and sadness that the person who passed is only relocated into the friends and family. Which, isn’t fully true. You’ll never truly understand or feel how someone else felt because you’ll never be in the exact same shoes. Despite it not being the same, it’s similar, and like with all trauma – it hurts.

Suicide is never unexpected, whatever path you take, you’re leaving foot prints. A trace, something that can be seen or picked up. Whether you choose to examine the size seven and a half, is entirely up to you.

Look at the past events in their life and see what everyone, her included, could have done to prevent a tragedy. Did you dismiss her over something so small? Did you consciously choose to bully someone directly or indirectly? Did you act with kindness instead of negativity? Did you communicate with her or blame her?

More importantly, while she was alive did you make her feel as though she was loved? Communication takes five minutes and effort cost nothing.

As a community, we could do better for ourselves. We could do so much for others, and yet, we continuously choose not to. We decide to admire the beauty in someone when they are no longer there and pick the flaws out while they are still here.

There’s so many steps to suicide prevention. The choice is, are you going to let this sentence be a blog post, or a suicide note?

Just Write

When it comes to change, I’m awful at it.

I’m not talking about changing my hair color, clipping my nails, repainting my room, or finishing a book.

I’m talking about real change, the kind that you cannot control.

I’m a person who thrives on a schedule. On familiar objects. Familiar situations. Simply because it’s routine to handle a work schedule, a social schedule, and a love life.

However, every now and then, I get thrown out of my comfort zone without food, shelter, or even water. I’m standing there, in the pouring rain, trying to remember why I didn’t grab an umbrella.

During times like this, I can usually cope by writing. Which I have not been doing. When I should just write.

Just write. Even if it is just a paragraph, or a sentence, or the same cuss word repeated over and over. Because I’m not putting the focus on something constructive, I just sit there and worry. When I can: just write.

It’s amazing what a pen and paper can do or how typing up how you feel helps you understand it. So,

Just write.

Up Late

Here I am. It’s 4:28am and I’m listening to my fan spin around and around. Thinking about why things in life, don’t matter.

This house that I sleep in, doesn’t matter, because in a month it will be sold. This stage in life, doesn’t matter, because I’m a few months it will be my twenty-fourth year. My feelings, don’t matter, because in thirty minutes I’ll feel differently.

I want to believe that there is a reason for everything. Yet, I cannot see past the water that my ship is sinking into.

My white flag for surrender is waving high but no one will take me home. I’m stranded, standing on the deck, and I’m alone.

So I’ll just wait for my last breath.

Holding on

I’m finding it increasingly hard to hang onto what I’ve got in life right now. Reality has set in my eyes, the possibility of ever being happy get thinner and thinner. You never truly can “cure” mental illness…you either live with it or die from it. I’m not sure which one is more miserable.

Is it all worth it? Living past twenty-five, having little mini me’s run around my ankles, own a few more dogs, get grand kids, owning a house, use my future degree, get married..is it all worth sticking around to see? Will it all be worth it, if in the end, none of it matters?

Because lately, everything seems like it’s downhill from here. I haven’t accomplished much and I don’t know why anyone would be proud of me. My world is shattering around me and I’m slipping through the cracks.

I have nothing solid to stand on, right when I believe everything is safe, the rug gets pulled from under me reminding me I have no sense of security.

My best isn’t good enough. I’m giving more and more and still not worthy of simple titles. Not worthy of praise. I’m getting overlooked and I don’t know what to do about it other than stare blankly into space.

I can’t provide a roof over my head, let alone the bills in my pocket. I can’t choose where I should stay, in my truck or in a home. I don’t get to have my feelings considered, only hurt.

I do everything I can to be there for people, and yet, I’m second best. I’m thought of last. I’m a last resort. I’m a person you only call on when you can’t get a hold of anyone else.

Why is that? When I give everything?

Because I’m still holding onto things, when it’s best, I just let go.

Torn

Sometimes I like to think about how multiples of one thing, make up a uniform item.

How we are made of cells, dying to live within our skin. How one thread of yarn, can lead to a blanket to keep you warm. How wood, with nails, can come together and make a house.

And all of those little things, can remain.

But just as a sweater can be torn, our bodies can be torn just as easily.

Then, all those little things, go back to being multiples.

Blankets can become thread, houses can become scrap, our bodies can become dirt.

It just proves that, no matter how strong you are, you can still break down. It also proves, that you can build it up.

News

I cannot say that I am surprised to hear the words coming from your mouth, or the echos bouncing inside of my head. All I can do is nod along and accept the new path that is being paved for me. I pray that I will not have to walk it alone, but if I must, then I will.

I don’t know where the new path will lead me, if it is a new place, a new face, a new point of view. I cannot tell you what the weather will be like up ahead, just that I hope you got your rain coat on you – just in case. I can’t tell you what it will be like there, if it’s warm and inviting or cold and lonely.

All I can say for sure is: There must be flowers somewhere, especially if it’ll rain. And of there is rain, we can stomp in the mud puddles. If it is sunny, we can pick a bouquet to give to my grandmother.

And it could be, you and me.

Hold My Hand

I’m holding on tightly to your hand, but slowly and gradually, I am slipping further and further down until the shadows touch my ankles and creep up my legs. It’s hard to hold a hand, when they’ve already let go.

The shadows are touching my thighs, I’m pleading for you to hold on. There’s sweat dripping down my face, I cannot see, I’m terrified. All I can hear is you apologizing over and over again, I’ve long lost count.

Half of my torso is now covered in darkness, I tried to scream out, but you don’t hear me. You’ve stopped listening. It occurs to me, that perhaps, I should let go too. Make it clean and fast, like I never mattered. But still, I’m holding on.

Now I’m up to my neck inside of my own darkness. I cannot speak at all, the shadows are clasping around my throat. All I can do is… watch it happen. Once last shred of hope is awaiting. To pull me up last second and never lose a grasp on me again. That’s all I have, wishful thinking.

Overall, there is a choice. You can hold my hand or you can let go. I’ve never lossened my grasp and I’ve never understood what I did to deserve this, hanging on there, by mere fingers. I cannot make you choose, I cannot make you pick me up and never let me go.

After all of that, I still hope that you choose to hold my hand. Or i’ll be plumiting throughout the darkness forever.

 

Spotlight

All I hear is myself screaming. Running up to every stranger, shaking them by their arms just begging to be heard.

It’s as if no sound is coming from my mouth at all, because they all talk over me blatantly ignoring my feelings, my thoughts, my opinions – Treating it as though, they don’t matter. Treating me as if their feelings were more important than mine.

Suddenly, I’ve gone from a one-on-one into a scene, a scene where I am being pushed to the back of a group of people as a spotlight display lands on them.

Inside of the shadows, I have two options. Either I beg one person for attention or I allow the loneliness to consume me, because my time in the spotlight will never come.

Changing Color

My mind is constantly thinking ahead. I’m counting down days, going over my schedule, wordlessly making plans, strategizing on how I approach future situations, and learning new ways to get myself up and out of bed on time the next morning.

Every thought comes from one idea: How my life is going to get better. Some solutions are easy for me to think of, go to bed at a decent time, drink enough water, remember to eat three meals a day, and spend a good amount of time with the people that I love. Other solutions provide challanges, redirecting negative thoughts, stop consuming so much chocolate, and ask for help when it is needed.

It’s hard to be the change when you see no change, I am fighting for myself every single day. To stay strong, to keep pushing, and to learn to love who I am. However, I do fall down, sometimes I am wrong, and my stubborness can get in the way of a good thing.

I’m looking at the bigger picture, seeing all of the blacks and whites change color, it’s very suttle, and then, it’s all at once. Focusing on the colors and not how they got there, gets me through the day, to become the person I need to be.

I may not know who this person is just yet, but, I hope that she is kind even when people are cruel, stern when she needs to be, has the strength to do anything she sets her mind to, is intelligent and knows how to use her brilliance for great things, is loved unconditionally, and always helps people in need.

She’s the kind of person that you deserve, someone who can hold a smile on her face, who can laugh at anything, who can express her words freely, who can handle any situation that you throw at her, and who can bring you all of the happiness that you could ever need.

All of those things, and more. I believe that she, that woman, lives in me. She has slowly been making appearences for a while now, but she was too afraid to come out.

And that’s okay, because my mind, always thinks ahead. So when it’s time to change color, she’ll be ready.

Changing

As much as I’d hate to admit it, everything around me is changing, and I’m not quite sure how to adapt to it.

I thrive on consistency and things that feel familiar to me, perhaps I got too comfortable. But something about Pizza every Friday, and lazy Tuesdays were enough for me. It brought peace to my soul, knowing when some people were just a phone call away.

I realize that over time, people change. And maybe, I need to be one of those people. It’s just a matter of staying who I am, or leaving a new person.

For now, I’m stuck between good times of the past and the awkward present, trying to figure out who to be.