I don't know if I should be talking about this. I literally feel sort of sick thinking about what I am about to write, but I feel like I should. Imagining the people reading this, envisioning their judgment as they drink in the words; it doesn't put a pleasant blanket over the whole thing. And yet...being a writer is about facing what hurts us, what helps us, what we regret, what we cannot change, what we are. We can share ourselves with the world, or we can hide and pretend we are someone we are not. I've never been good at pretending. And so, here I go.
I just put my head in my hand and closed my eyes as this word slithered through my brain. It's a horrible word. It's viewed as being a cowardly word. It's this black, bitter word people whisper; the word we pretend doesn't exist. We don't talk about it. And if one dares to bring it up, they are looked at in disgust, or with wariness. No one wants to talk about it. Maybe if we did, it would happen less often. Anyone who attempts such a thing is reviled and anyone who succeeds at such a thing is scorned. I mean, if you take your life, aren't you supposedly forever damned? Aren't you committing the utmost sin in the removal of your life? You're weak. You gave up. You took the easy way out. That's what we're told. That's what we're supposed to think.
I'm sorry, and this is my opinion, but that's bullshit.
I've been told I'm crazy, and maybe I am. I have issues. We all have issues. Sometimes they are because of decisions we make, and sometimes they are because of instances in our life that we have no control over. Sometimes, there's just something not quite wired right in our heads. Whatever the reason; sometimes it's hard to deal with everything going on around us, whether it's by our choice or not. There are some people who would never think of suicide as a solution. There are some people who see it as the only solution. For those who have never thought of it, I envy you. For those of you who have, you have my empathy.
You are me. I am you.
I thought about it a lot growing up. Let's just say my childhood was not perfect, and we'll leave it at that. I think I was eleven the first time I attempted it. I know, I shouldn't be speaking about such things. I should keep them hidden, right? The second time when I was sixteen. That time I was close; that time there was a chance I wouldn't make it. The reasons for why I did this are not as important as the fact that I felt it was necessary to go this route. So I understand those who think life is too hard, too full of shit, to want to keep enduring it.
But I also have to say this: I am so glad I am still here.
I caught a glimpse of a world minus me, and I realized something. To me, death was no longer an option. To me, no matter what, I had to live. It takes more courage to keep living than it does to stop. And I wanted to be strong. So I became strong. You can too, all of you, any of you. Suicide should not be an option, it really shouldn't, and not because it's a sign of weakness, but because we are all given this life, and we should all embrace it, and even if it's full of shit, you know what? One day, someday, it will be better. And you know why? Because you'll make it that way.