Suicidal Me

Hey guys, I hope the night or day is finding you well. It is currently 10:55pm here in beautiful SoCal and this comforting autumn breeze is a soothing 68*. So many thoughts are racing through my mind, from those in the destructive path of Hurricane Irma to those repairing from Hurricane Harvey. Thoughts of undeveloped pieces for my next project to thoughts of this unknown image that refuses to leave my brain *no matter how deeply I ignore it. But, on the flip side a piece of me is okay with that, his unfamiliar appearance injects a tiny peaceful moment within this cerebral storm.* 

So, tonight I’d like to share a piece with you that I wrote earlier this spring. Allow this thought of mine to either help you or open your eyes to the suffocated silence. It’s about time that the light illuminate our warrior scars.

**Suicidal thoughts… fragments of negativity that only a select few struggle with. These select humans are easily spotted for they wear all black, listen to Emo tunes and have razor stitched arms hidden in plain sight.

Mentally murdering themselves while attempting to morph thoughts into physical actions.

Why does this happen? How do we select few end up in a point in our lives where moments of peace are only found stitched in the Grim Reaper’s shadow?

Allow me to break the stereotype.

Allow me to slash the “select few” myth.

Allow me to make you feel as uncomfortable as I possibly can.

Allow me a moment of conversation with the silencers.

Allow me a moment to have a hopefully helpful suicidal head case session with my people.

Suicide stereotyping kills. Suffocating a suicidal voice because you want to avoid the discomfort that’s attached to that life preserving conversation kills. Keeping the topic of suicidal sessions under lock and key because it’s something older generations only spoke about under hushed tones kills.

Let me inject an image into your closed off mind…

I was a happy kid who was always smiling and laughing in the presence of family and friends. I loved having video game wars with my Dad, cooking in the kitchen with my Ma’, dancing and singing along to all of my favorite songs/bands, and playing board games with my siblings. My fashion style was jeans, cute and fun T-shirts, Billabong-Roxy-Fox-Clandestine Industry hoodies and Vans/ DC shoes. An adorable porcelain freckled skinned teen with sparkling hazel eyes. The shy nerd who loved school and curling up with a good book. Shopping at the mall and going to the movies. Helping others kept me sane.           

Now say cheese as we take a photo with my introverted camera.

Hmmm, something seems off, the inside image doesn’t seem to match the outside image. Perhaps we should take another shot. This one turned out to be our first pancake. Okay, here we go. Say Cheese!! Hmmm, same outcome.

Guess what, you can take a hundred snapshots, you can take a thousand snapshots. They are all going to develop with the same image. A heart that’s been beaten down, yet beats on. A soul at 50% flickering capacity, for the outsiders keep trying to completely blow it out. A sharp mind with bleeding stab wounds and vacancies filling with tears, doubts and monsters. And veins that once were filled with deep blue plasma flowing through them now have black venom poisoning this tiny skeletal body.

Finally, let’s look at the invisible marks that your naked human eye would have never picked up on. Translucent wings that are scorched and a cracked tilted halo to match.  Clear tears streaming down freckled cheeks. Silent blaring screams for help are booming yet will never form into visible sounds. Self-esteem and confidence are shot to unrecognizable pieces.

They say that ignorance is bliss. Is it really?

To those who are seeking for the golden point to life, I know what you’re going through. I’ve stood at the end of the pitch black street, pondering whether I should turn around or walk in the darkness. I chose the latter and I’ve lived in that dark place you’re residing in at this moment. I lived there for far too long, became far too use to the faceless voices lurking underneath every pothole. Days mixed into nights, my eyes seeing better in the black than the light. I know that you’re silently screaming for help, yet are apprehensive about an actual conversation. You don’t want to be judged for the damaging thoughts that are dining on your brain like Hannibal Lecter.

I won’t tell you to keep your pain to yourself. I won’t tell you that you’d never intentionally hurt yourself. I know that you’re 100% capable of hurting yourself. I know that you’re capable of ending your life. I know that you’ve convinced yourself that there is no one out there to help. That there’s no one out there who knows what you’re going through. Survival mode is what you’ve cemented yourself into.

“This is my problem and only I can fix this. Only I can stop this.”

“There’s no hope, I’m a goner.”

I know.

I know what it feels like to have the world shooting you down. I get it… I get it when you just want the pain to end and the only result you can think of is to take that silver savior and slice a bloody gash into your jugular.  I understand… I understand just how worthless you feel when you gaze at your exhausted reflection.

But, before you depart from this spinning marble, I’ll ask you to freeze for a moment, take my hand and lend me your ears. All of that negative energy electrocuting through your bones, let’s inject a positive charge into your skeletal frame.

Allow me to inquire as to what your escape is. What is that one thing that keeps your flame slightly ignited? We all have something and that something is actually the answer to one of those gnawing questions taunting you brain. Do you find temporary peace in books? In music? Shooting hoops or tossing the pigskin? Is your peace found in the kitchen amongst the spices and herbs that add the finishing touches to your delicious concoctions? Or, is your peace found in the freshly inked words that fill notebook after notebook? Perhaps movies and video games aid in numbing the insanity.

I know that this may sound crazy, even implausible, but that escape of yours is your ticket out of the hell you’re living in. That temporary escape is your future. That escape is the point. So ignite your pain into becoming a legend.

Ignite that pain to become the next Stephen King…

Ignite that pain to become the next Eli Manning or Rhonda Rousey…

Ignite that pain to become the next Van Gough…

Ignite that pain to become the next M. Night Shymalan or Tim Burton…

Ignite that pain to become the next Eminem, T.O.P or Beyonce…

Ignite that pain to become the next Sir Anthony Hopkins or Julia Roberts…

Ignite that pain to become the next Vera Wang or Tom Ford…

So tonight I dare you to allow the silence to speak volumes. Tonight, gleam out of the window and see it for the beautiful scene as it is meant to be seen instead of the suicidal door that eludes your fragile mind. Find the calm within the studded ambient sounds. Find luminosity in the brilliance of the moon and refuge in the rising sun.

And now a message to those who suffocate the silent suicidal voices. I may not know what your mind is pondering when confronted with this type of uncomfortable discussion. I do, however, know what it feels like to be in an uncomfortable position. I have a piece of advice that I hope you find helpful should you find yourself in the discomfort corner. Listen. That’s it, just listen. More times than not, when a friend or family member comes to you with their suicidal thoughts, they are simply in search of a kind shoulder to rest on and a pair of open ears that they can vent to. We suicidal head cases are not necessarily looking for you to have the answers to our dizzying questions, we just need a kind heart to listen. That’s it, just be there in the moment and listen. So please, never shut up a suicidal voice. Never assume that we are doing this for attention. Never look at us and say that we don’t appear to be suicidal, suicide isn’t a fashion style. Never tell us to just stop thinking those diminishing thoughts, because we can’t. Lastly, never disregard a suicidal self because you don’t want to feel uncomfortable. Our discomfort is killing us while yours is just slightly freaking you out.  

P.S. If you need someone to listen while you vent, I’m always here for you, my ears and shoulders are yours.

“Never, never, never give up…”

Winston Churchill

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