She wandered through the kitchen and it flashed before her. The draw where the knives were held. Maybe it was normal. Normal to remember where the knives were. But was it normal to imagine opening the drawer grabbing one and stabbing herself? She didn’t think so. It was too… too scary… too crazy to be normal and so she never told anyone how often that thought crossed her mind. She didn’t tell anyone that she wondered if, when the blade pierced her skin, it would cut through the tormented thoughts in her mind, silencing them all and giving her mind a much needed rest. That she wondered if it would hurt more than the emotional pain she was feeling or perhaps, like the blood that would pour from her skin, the anguish in her heart would leak out of her, until she was left with no feeling, no pain. Wondering if she would finally find release from everything. Because that’s all she wanted. Release. Release from the pain bullying caused, not just at school, but also at home. Release from the tormented thoughts in her mind caused from it all. Nobody likes you. You’re such a failure. And it was true you know? Nobody did. Why else would they find reasons to always bring her down? She was always worried the few friends she had didn’t like her either and that they were going to drop her soon, so she always did her best to please their wants and needs. Release from the constant nostalgia and ache she had for the country of her childhood. Release from the too many nights she cried herself to sleep. She held her breath as she passed the draw and made her way into her room where she shut the door and lay on her bed. A voice in her head reminded her she could pray, but she didn’t think it would do anything, because although she went to church, and life group, she thought someone had made the bible up and tricked a whole lot of people to believe in it, so what use would prayer be? She opened her school bag and pulled out a book she’d got from the library because reading gave her a temporary escape from life, where she could immerse herself in the life of a fictional character and forget about her own. In the book she’d picked out for today however, the main character struggled with bullying, and she wanted to know how the character coped, because it might be useful for her own life. The character talked about having a hole in her heart from loneliness and trying to fill it, which is where she met God and he filled it for her. The reader put the book down at the end and mentally felt for her pounding heart and realised it felt empty. Far too empty. Filled with pain, too much pain, hollowed out where she knew something had to be, and she didn’t know until now what it was. She broke down into sobs because she hated it. Hated the pain, the loneliness, the hole where her heart should be filled. She wanted it to be filled, gosh, she wanted it to be whole. If she tried death and it didn’t bring her release she wouldn’t be able to try other options. So before she decided to die, maybe she should give this God thing a go and see? So the girl closed her eyes, and said “God I believe you’re real. I want to give my heart to you.” And that’s when she knew. Knew it wasn’t made up but real. God was real. He showed her a mental picture of Jesus on the cross and said: “I understand your pain. I went through pain too. And you know what? I love you, and you are not alone.” And life after that wasn’t perfect, nobody’s life is, but she now had something to life for, something that meant she could wake up and smile because she knew she was loved and never alone. She was in search of death but instead she found life. And that meant everything.
Last year I made (can’t say wrote since it has no lyrics) a song called “Buried Deep” after someone close to me attempted to overdose. And do you know what the horrible part of it was. I never knew. I never knew it had crossed their mind. I never knew they had feelings buried so deep, festering overtime till it came out in an attempted act. That itself, was the most hurtful part of it all. The fact that I loved them so hard and yet I never knew. And this is why, my dear friends, I’m asking you to tell someone close to you how you feel. Don’t keep things buried deep, festering, without anyone to vent it out to. Please tell someone, before they’re left as broken as I was that day. I know you don’t want to tell people how you feel. I know you’re scared of how they’ll react. But you know what? You’ll be hurting them more in the long run if you don’t tell them. So do. Please do tell someone. I beg you. I don’t want others to experience what I went through. Please.
I can see the blade glinting as you draw it near, feel your hands shaking as you lift the pills closer to your lips, taste the air you’re choking on as you tighten the rope around your neck, feel the cool metal as you press the gun to your temple, hear the whistling wind as you balance precariously on the edge of the bridge. This is it. This is it. This is it. And then, you’re gone. And do you know how much it breaks my heart? I’m crying as I write this. But you can’t see the tears spilling down my cheeks. I wish you could. I wish you could see how loved you are, by the strange girl who’s writing this. My heart feels so heavy, burdened by the weight of all your pain. Why does it hurt so much? It is breaking my heart, but yet with every crack a bit of love leaks out and I hope that it reaches wherever you are, wraps itself around you like a warm hug and gently whispers in your ear: “This is not the end.”