To those of you:
To those of you contemplating suicide, you are not alone. You are not ugly. You are not stupid. You are not worthless or a burden. You are not bad. You are not a slut. You are not a disgrace. You are not an embarrassment. You are not an abomination. You are not fat. You are not invisible. You are not hopeless. You are not clumsy. You are not unlovable. You are not less than. You are not a statistic.
You are a person. You are beautiful and unique. You matter. You are important. You are seen and heard. You are irreplaceable...
I know how bad the pain can be. I know that some days it is so heavy and so great that you just don't know how much longer you can bare it. I know that you feel lost and alone. Like no one understands....It's not true. Many understand. I understand.
I know that you think maybe your loved ones will be better off without you. Maybe your friends will be happier. Maybe the world will be a better place......They won't. It won't.The world needs you. You friends need you. Your loved ones need you.
I know that you feel numb. Like your soul is made of ice. Like nothing warm will ever touch you again.... It will touch you, again. You will become warm.
I know that you feel lost and so very very alone. You feel invisible. You feel like no one would notice if you are gone. Like no one would care......They care. Someone cares. I care.
Suicide isn't beautiful. It isn't romantic. It isn't Romeo and Juliette. It isn't like the movies or television. It isn't quiet or clean. It isn't lovely or inspiring. It is ugly. It is devastating. It is a black whole left behind for those that knew you to carry around where their hearts used to be, for the rest of their lives. It is a loss of a future and all of the things that could have been. It is a stain on the fabric of life where something beautiful once was. Someone beautiful. You.
Suicide has touched my life twice. The first was my Great Uncle when I was around two. He no longer could deal with the pain and he chose to end his life. Is wasn't romantic or pleasant, or neat and tidy. He didn't leave a note. He didn't see past his pain to realize that my great grand parents heard the gunshot. That they would break down the door in hopes of being able to save him. That his brother would find him first. That they would find his body broken and disfigured. That there would be a whole in the family where he once stood. That nothing could ever erase the emptiness he left behind. That no one in the family would ever get over it. They never got over it and to this day the ripples of his decision is still felt. The pain of him choosing to leave this world that way, was much greater than anything else. That no one ever could truly accept or make peace with it. It is a haunting. A phantom that hovers over the families of suicide victims in hushed tones and whispers. We don't know why he did and it wouldn't matter anyway. Nothing would make it less horrific. Less devastating.
The second brush with suicide was my mother's attempt when I was ten. She swallowed a bottle of pills. She suffers from Chronic Depression, PTSD, Bipolar, and a touch of OCD. My Dad found her and she was rushed to the hospital. She had taken pills that couldn't kill her, thankfully, but she didn't know that. If it had been any other medication she would have left me. My mother tried to kill herself. It's a knowledge that is hard to accept even now as an adult. She tried to kill herself. I sometimes think if I say it enough times aloud it will get easier to accept. That it will somehow lessen the sharp sting from the words. It doesn't and it never will. My mother tried to kill herself when I was ten. Because she was in pain. Because she felt alone. She felt lost. She felt broken and damaged. Mostly she felt numb. And so too would my life had been had she been successful. I would have never gotten over it. I was not better without her. She was not unloved or a burden. She was beautiful. She was unique. She was my mother. Had she successfully killed herself she would have missed out so many wonderful things that she has been a part of after she got help. Me growing up. My first crush. My first school dance. The birth of both of my children. The many birthdays we share ever year because I was born on her birthday. She would have missed the man she married two years ago that is quite possibly the love of her life. The good times. The days filled with our love and laughter. Days filled with what my oldest learned at school or the stick figures my youngest drew with crayons. She would have missed twenty four years that she has had since her attempt. 8765 days. 52594560 minutes she would have ceased to have. Those minutes filled with joy. Those minutes filled with beauty. Those minutes filled with her. My mother was lucky. She got help and even though she still suffers from her mental illnesses, even though some days are not the happiest greatest days on earth, she lives. Because she knows the truth about life and that is it changes. The world doesn't stay dark and lonely forever. Things will and do get better.You may not see it right now, but I promise you it will come.
To those of you who feel lost and alone and feel like nothing could ever be good again, I say to you please please get help. Reach out. Tell someone. Talk to someone. If that person doesn't hear you then go to the next person and then the next. Never cease talking because you are worth more than "an easy way out". You are important and your life has value. You have value....You matter.