I remember the first time
I wanted to die.
Considered the verb,
the method,
the option.
I was seven years old
and my life was already over
in my head.
By nine years of age,
I saw the means by which to end it all.
Every vehicle flying down the street, rushing rivers,
hilltop cliffs,
pocket knives.
At 11,
I was committed,
13,
I'd tried,
I died again,
and again,
everyday I survived,
never living.
14, 15, 16,
Nothing,
Nothing,
Nothing,
This purgatory had to cease.
Being a specter
somehow, someway, just searching
for peace
in the ground.
Better yet
let me help grow a tree,
so my life could be good for one thing.
17
I'm almost there.
Nearly withered away.
I've spent all my years
held in all my tears
rid all my fears.
How dare they say
I'm not all grown up.
Let me go.
This was a decade of me, enjoy.
Every time I hear of a young person passing by there own means it stabs me in the heart. I see myself in them and I remember exactly how it felt to feel everything and nothing, so much nothing. I wish I could speak to every person dealing with suicidal thoughts. I want to reach them and show them that they are not alone. Life is always changing and it is worth sticking around for when it changes for the better.