I'm suffocating, gasping for air. Surrounded by a group of people slowing dying. Cause: Choking on depression. Suffering from suffocation created by sadness, seemingly harmless until staggering stress and anxiety becomes suicide. One text at three AM about being worthless. One morning spent cleaning dried blood off of the razor. One two o'clock funeral service. One year spent mourning someone whom you didn't even know. Did anyone know him? Probably not. The operator of the suicide hotline knew him better than the people who thought they loved him. The people who thought they knew him, loved him, even, only knew the facade of the happy person he used to be. A mask. A shadow. A memory. His whole life is just a memory now. No more soccer games. No more going to the movies every Saturday. No more living. No more breathing. Just a memory.
Aren't we all just hollow memories? Drones, breathing and breathing; all just to die and become a memory. What's the point of it? Any of it? Living. Suffering and suffering just to suffocate. And then you die. Some people are happy, somehow. Some people are able to make it through this miserable massacre. Some people are okay. Some people don't stay up until four AM, crying behind locked doors. Some people don't feel like an alien in their own skin. Some people are a wonder. Some people amaze me with how easily they glide through the monstrous and deadly sea of mortality.
But this isn't a fairytale story. So, let's not focus on the some people who have money and people who love them and don't have to sacrifice themselves so people pay attention to them. Let's talk about most people. Most people are the people like you and me, and my friend who got one hour of sleep last night and your cousin´s neighbor who puts too much pressure on themselves and has anxiety attacks frequently, and that girl you saw on the subway who skips meals and lies to her parents about not relapsing. Most people are you and me and everyone in between. Most people struggle to get out of bed. Most people struggle to smile, even if just for a second. Most people struggle. Daily.
Now that we've established the difference between some people and the people like you and me, let's explore what this means. If you're one of the few who go through life with a smile on your face, and you aren't faking it; then I'm really happy for you. Hopefully that continues. But this isn't for you, this is for the people who hate themselves and everything that came with this life of theirs that they didn't even ask for.
You. Yes, you. Not the person sitting next to you, not the person in front of you. You. You mean everything to me. I'm here for you, I love you unconditionally. I want you to know, its okay. Whatever you're going through, however you're feeling, it's okay. There are so many people who care about you and are waiting patently to welcome you with open arms. Find them. I encourage- no, challenge you. Talk to someone at lunch, someone you don't know, maybe they could be the greatest friend you ever make. Call a depression hotline. And if you do find the right people to talk to, the ones who care about you, not the superficial mask of the old you, but the real you. Broken, and all of your pieces. Don't hide. You're already hiding from so many people, don't hide from the ones that matter.
And please, stay alive. Because if you go, everyone follows. And you are the most important thing in my life. You mean so much to me that I can't even tell you how much it would hurt if you killed yourself. I know it's tempting. Believe me, I know. But, there's more than just one way to get out of the suffocating. Breathe. Five seconds in, hold for five seconds, five seconds out. A friend taught me that. I do it all the time now. Breathing helps, especially when you're drowning. My friends also taught me, that I'm a good person. I deserve the happiness house. My friends taught me I deserve to be okay. You do too. I really hope you're okay in the future. I hope we all are. Me, my friend who doesn't sleep, your sister in law with the body disorder, the cashier at Barnes and Noble I talked to yesterday. We all deserve to be okay. And maybe, if a miracle happens, we all will be. Maybe, if a miracle happens, the fake smile just might become real. Maybe, if a miracle happens, we all stop suffocating and start singing. Maybe, if a miracle happens.