September is Suicide Prevention Month and even if not many people read this, I do hope someone that is struggling finds even a shred of comfort in my message…
The way I see it, suicide is not a conclusion you come to in one day. No, it is years of feeling like the walls are too closed. The voices too loud. And feeling too alone for too long. It is a combination of everything happening at once and without anything to hold on to. So I don’t blame you for feeling like there’s no way out. But, if I could gift you with one thing, it would be the ability to see just how strong you are. We sometimes talk about strength like it has to do with breaking a record or climbing a mountain, or surviving a flood. And, if I could give you this gift, you would see all the times your strength meant more than any of these things stitched together.
I think the real strength is in the simple things. The blurry details in this colossal photograph.
Have you ever felt your heartbeat race like it wants to dive out of your chest? How our eyes flutter open before waking up.
How smiling is a universal language that all of us were born knowing.
I love the way our ears transform vibrations into music.
The strain of muscles from running,
the sharp inhale of a gasp,
the smooth exhale of a sigh.
And let’s not forget about the science of love. How no one knows what it means, but everyone is an expert within their two person story. How our hearts have probably been mangled in the name of love once or twice or a million times before and, somehow, it still welcomes in light.
Or our palms: bruised and tired of being told a million versions of the same future and yet, they always find new ways of embracing our past.
I think the real strength are the details. Have you ever thought how your body does all of this every day? I wish I could give you this gift. Only then you would see the mountains you climb every day and that you were born knowing how to survive the floods.
Only then would you see everything your body does to keep you here.
To keep you living.
All the ways it tells you to please stay so it could do it for one hundred more years.