I’m suicidal.

Guys, I don’t get to say this too often without it being a hypothetical, BUT... I’m suicidal.

Did you hear me in the back? Did they hear me outside? Do you want me to say it louder?

I’M SUICIDAL!

Again? Do you want me to say it again?

I’m just messing with you guys! I know you don’t want me to say it.

I’m not an idiot. I can see you cringe and squirm in your seat. Don’t worry. I got you guys. I won’t say it too much.

I’ll prove it to you.

Let’s calm down for a second here. Take a deep breath. Get comfortable. This is not a public service announcement. This isn’t some after school special. I’m not a preacher nor do I ever plan to preach to you.

But I’m suicidal.

No one likes to hear it… So just give me a chance to prove it.

I’m already proving it in a way. Because as a suicidal person, I learned that I’m not allowed to talk about it. As a suicidal person, it’s like saying a ***** word.

Not a ***** word like **** or *****. ****. ******.

But it makes people feel *****.

When suicide is mentioned, I can see people rub their arms. They scratch the back of their neck. They fidget in their seat like I have covered them in ****.

So I’m sorry. But for a moment. I want you all to feel *****.

To see my truth, I not only need to splash my dirt onto you. I have to pull you deep down into the dirt with me. I need you to feel this way for the rest of the day.
Even when you go home and you hug your children, you hold your loved ones, and you’ve washed yourself in the lies that this could never happen to someone you care about

It’s going to stick behind your ears. You’ll feel it between your fingers. This smell will linger on your clothes. For a long time.

Just for a moment, you’re going to taste ****.

I’m sorry about that.

Do you guys want to hear a joke?

What’s the difference between being hungry and being *****?... it’s where you put the cucumber!

Have you heard that one?

Fine. But how about...

What’s the difference between a ****** and a drug dealer?... A ****** can wash and resell her crack.

I love telling that one. It kills almost every time.

No? Still not laughing?

How about…

Mickey Mouse walks into a divorce lawyers office. The lawyer says “You want to divorce your wife because she’s crazy?” and Mickey says “No! She’s ******* goofy.”

Ha! I knew I’d get some smiles. That one always works.

Does anyone feel better yet? Even just a little cleaner?

Because I don’t.

I carry jokes like a first aid kit and I bandage my wounds in satire.

When you see me drown, let me throw a punch line like a safety net. At least we both don’t have to die

Go home. Learn my jokes. Spray them like air freshener.

Pretend to be ok.

Do you think suicide is serious?

We all know it’s “serious” but no one ever explains why it’s serious.

Do you ever think about that?

Like, really think about it?

I was thirteen years old when I first told someone I was suicide and they treated it like I had brought a gun to school.

Like I had killed my dog with my bare hands.

Like I pulled my shirt up and sliced down my stomach just to show them my insides.

In a way I did. I did show them my insides. That was the first time I showed them all of me. But instead of stitching me up, they put a bandaid on it.

That’s what it is! It’s like I keep bleeding out and they keep putting bandaids on me. And when they run out, they’re like “****… You should feel better by now.”

They’re telling me “Why do I keep opening old wounds?” even though this pain hasn’t even had time to scab yet.

The last time I told my mother I was suicidal, I couldn’t say it in those words. We went on a walk, on new year's day.

It was the first walk we had taken together since I was a child. She was mad at me about something but I figured “It’s New Year. It’s ******* New Years, you know? It’s time to say it. It’s time to deal with it. I’m an adult. I can do it.”

But I didn’t put it in those words. I couldn’t just say “I’m Suicidal.” So I said “I don’t think I’m going to survive for much longer.”

And she rolled her eyes.

As a writer, it’s my job to find words. To make them so eloquent and so beautiful that they stick with you for the rest of your life. My words are supposed to stick.

But I can’t find words for such a pain…

You see, looking back on that, it was my fault.

As a suicidal person, I made the mistake of thinking just because she’s my mother, it mean she can’t smell the ***** word of suicide.

I live in a world of referrals.

If my parents can’t handle it, they will send me to my siblings.

If my siblings can’t handle it, they will send me to my friends,

From friends, I go to doctors, and then other doctors. And then specialists.

From specialists, I go to hospitals.

And then, ironically, I’ll go to special hospitals.

Mental facilities have become as arbitrary as wishing wells.

And I’ve emptied my pockets! I’ve emptied my wallets. But if I empty my heart I think they’re going to find me at the bottom of it.

When I’m sick and tired of all the referrals, they have the audacity to tell me that I have given up.

I gave up.

I stopped fighting.

But I am here to tell you that I am suicidal.

It is a *****, ***** word.

I’m also a lot of other things. I’m so many things.

I’m a daughter. And they take my beauty and they call it their reflections.

I’m a sister. But they took my loyalty, and they called it respect.

I’m a friend. They took my humor and they called it ecentric.

I’m a writer. So I took my pain and I made it into poetry.

But I am suicidal.

I am suicidal.

Don’t take my strength and call me a survivor.

Please.

Don’t let yourselves forget what **** smells like.

The first thing about suicidal people is that they're not always the people who lay in bed, cry or sulk in a dark room. In fact, that’s a common misconception. Most of them, are highly-functional people. They laugh, talk with their friends, go to work, go to school, whatever. They do the things they need to do. It's part of the routine. But they still feel that they don't want to live anymore.

You see, just because they do things living people do doesn’t mean they’re not dead inside.

Second, suicidal people don’t want help. They know they need help but they don’t want it. Because they know you can't help them. You can try. Words of encouragement can help them understand that you want them to live and that people care about them. Words of encouragement help them stay for a while longer. But it doesn't make them want to live. At the end of the day, their resolve to die, doesn't change. You can't help them. They want to help themselves. But they don’t know how. The world is a ******-up place. Now all they want is relief.

And that is death.

Third, when suicidal people tell you they want to die, it's not for attention. But it's not for help, either. When they tell you they want to die, they're tasting the words come out of their mouths. They're tasting the sweetness of each syllable and bitterness of it all at the same time. And they're afraid that it tastes good. That it tastes just right. It echoes in their heads and they want to swallow death instead of life eating them alive.

Fourth, suicidal people don't need to hear the words "Please be okay." 'Cause more than you, that's the only thing that they want. To be okay. To be fine. But they’re not. They wrestle with their demons everyday only to find out that they’re only making love with them all along.

Fifth, most suicidal people don't show how they're suffering. And most of the time it's because they don't know how to say it to people. They don't know how to explain it to other people. That waking up is sometimes the hardest thing to do. That waking up is sometimes the worst thing that's been happening to them. How can you make normal people understand that? How can normal people understand that suicide isn't just lonely and depressed and gloomy ****? Suicide is also the exhaustion of this world.

So when people say they didn't see it coming. They really won't.

Sixth, most people think suicidal people are weak, lame *** beings. But the truth is, sometimes, they're the strongest people you'll ever meet. Why? Because they’ve been through hell and they’re still looking at you straight in the eye as if the world has not crumbled beneath them. It's just that they have become strong enough to want to die. What people don’t realize is that, being strong is not a state of being, it is earned. You have to do your ****, keep your **** together and still be able to actually be there for other people. But it's tiring. Most people do not understand that just because a person is strong doesn’t mean everything is alright. In fact, everything is not alright, that’s why they’re strong. Everything is falling apart but they appear intact.

Do you even realize how hard that is?

Everyday you keep fighting back and everyday you fall to the ground. Nothing changes. You lose everyday. Sure, some days are happy days. Good things happen once in a while. But happy things don't last. All good things must come to an end. And when you've come to that realization, what's more to live for? When you know you'll be happy then sad or angry or tired later on? Most people will say that that's what life is about.

"Overcoming challenges!" Well, I say, *******. I know everybody is fighting their own battles. But we deal with our battles differently. And lucky you, you haven’t given up yet. But suicidal people are just done with putting up concrete filling when all they feel inside is empty.

Seventh, suicidal people have been through a lot and they have fought and fought. That's why they still haven't pulled the trigger to their heads. But the thing is, life has become more of a war for them rather than something they must enjoy. They don't understand the essence of it anymore. They're just tired. They don't know when it will all end. They don't know how to fight wars when all they got are bare hands and a body that gets easily scraped and bruised.

Everyday they keep fighting it.
Everyday they lose.

But suicidal people,
God, they’re trying.
They really are.

Head is foggy,
Knees shake,
Hands quake.
Suicidal again.
Cotton mouth,
Nausea,
Lightheaded,
Suicidal again.
Numb,
Confusion,
Head is aching.
Suicidal again.
Distant voices,
Hot and cold flashes,
Suicidal again.
Pain,
Tears,
Self destructive behavior,
Suicidal again.
Exhaustion,
Isolation,
Self medication,
Suicidal again.
Chain smoke,
Can’t eat,
Suicidal again.
Gods turned his back on me;
I’ll turn my back on him.
Suicidal again.
Truly,
The only way out…
Suicidal again.