On Christmas Eve I was talking to my brother
It was 2:30 in the morning
We had both been drinking.
I read him one of my poems.
That one about surviving myself.
It sparked a conversation.
The tough kind.
About suicide.
I told him I truly believed most people
Dont WANT to die
They just want the pain to stop
I told him it was a cry for help.
He told me my first attempt was not.
He said with tears rolling down his cheeks
"You were done that night."
With tears now streaming down my cheeks I replied
"I can't talk about this. Not tonight."
"I know." He cried
"Did you ever get help after that night? After seeing me like that? Did you talk to someone?"
"I couldnt talk about it. It was too hard."
At this point we're both bawling.
I wrapped my arms around him.
I apologized.
See that's the thing about attempting suicide and surviving.
If you're lucky enough
To survive
You have to witness the pain everyone around you feels.
Because of you.
I never use to think it was selfish.
Not until Christmas Eve.
I broke my brother.
6 years ago.
And he's still haunted.
Trigger warning.
-word for word conversation with my brother this Christmas eve. This was not written to offend anyone. But rather to hopefully open the eyes of those considering attempting. It doesn't stop the pain, it truly does just pass it on to the people who love you most. Stay strong, hold on.