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I didn't throw myself off the balcony that day.
To be honest, I probably wasn't in any danger of it. My utter PASSIVITY is one of my biggest faults, and yet it's probably saved my life several times. So I've never actually been SUICIDAL. I always just go the curl-up-in-the-corner-and-wait-for-death-to-arrive-itself route.
But the balcony was tempting, a place to toss my failures and self-loathing and repressed rage. I'd been sticking up for somebody else, actually, on the bus on the way to this high school field trip. One of the perpetrators had shot back "Oh, watch, you're gonna cry about it now." And my tear ducts betrayed me. Again. I HADN'T been in danger of crying until she said that. But it REMINDED me that I'd always been a crybaby and even though I was much less of one now I still would be to everyone in this school forever and I was such a blotchy ugly naive nerd who would never belong anywhere and all anyone has to do is say "cry" and I do it and I HATE MYSELF SO MUCH, and so I sat in that theater staring at the balcony railing and wanting more than anything to flip myself over it and be done with it. Done with myself. But I had, as usual, a notebook and pen with me, and I wrote out the frustration instead, and halfway down the page I noticed, but it's only SCHOOL-Me I hate. At-home-Me is fine. Writing-Me is a lot of fun, even. I just want to throw SCHOOL-Me over the balcony and keep the rest. And there's only a couple more months until graduation! A couple endless, miserable months, but once they're over, School-Me will be gone, too.
So, shout-out to the ever-present notebook. Sneaking the truth in there on me when all I could feel were the lies. But it's the last part I'm thinking about most, today. In only a couple (admittedly long) months, the problem was going to fix itself. Not that I didn't run into variations on this problem many other times in the next seventeen years. Not that MORE horrible aspects of myself that I wanted to toss overboard wouldn't rear up and take over and leave me huddled in the corner, luckily far too passive to do anything about it. But I'd move on, discover new things, meet new people, ACCOMPLISH new things... and those things never would have happened if I'd offed myself when I thought I should have been offed.
Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. It's an issue that means a lot to me, even though I've never lost anyone close to me that way. It's an issue that, whenever something pops up on social media, I always RT or share or whatever, no matter how many other Worthy Issues people post about that I mostly just ignore. It's an issue that scares me, because I understand it. Like I said, I'm lucky-- I'm lucky for being a passive wimp, who couldn't commit suicide because that would require her to make a decision and act upon it, right in her least effective state. But I've been in That Place. I've let the lies eat me to bits, convince me I'm Not Worth Living. But I know they're lies. And I've seen hope-- I've seen that things can improve-- I've seen that someone who thinks they're worthless today can bring so much light into the world tomorrow.
The problem with suicide is, you never get a chance to come out of the abyss. You never get a chance at BETTER. There's no turning back when circumstances change or you learn something new that helps you grow and deal. It's just OVER.
I didn't understand suicide when I was younger-- I imagine a lot of adults still don't. I remember learning about Sylvia Plath in high school English, and thinking she was so messed up, crazy-- I defined her whole life by her death. And I think I may have picked some of that attitude up from adults, actually. That there was something disturbingly Other about people with mental illness. Only a Crazy Person would kill themselves, end of story.
Last spring I saw this photo of Sylvia Plath as a teenager. I usually avoid showing other people's pictures in my posts so as to not deal with the Complications, but I want to copy this picture right here so you can get a look at it:
I mean, LOOK at that girl. See how she GLOWS. See how she studies that flower as if there was something amazing in it that only she could see (and maybe there was). Wonder where she is, why she's there? What she's thinking now-- something seems to be amusing her slightly-- and what was she thinking this morning when she picked out that particular dress, brushed her hair and pulled it back that particular way?
How could I ever have defined that girl by her death? She has a LIFE, that she's already lived until now, and she's brimming with potential, and she's going to achieve some of that potential someday-- until she gives up. Snap. It was all over. But until that moment, THERE WAS LIFE. And that life DID make a difference. How much more of a difference might she have made, if she hadn't so suddenly STOPPED?
So I've grown up, since high school English, living with mental illness-- a depressingly common mental illness, but one that could easily lead to suicide, anyway. So I'm a Crazy Person, now? But I'm also a daughter and sister and wife and mother and friend. I've had laughs and fun and embarrassments. I've made Art, I've made friends, I've literally made two people, two people who WOULDN'T EXIST AT ALL if I hadn't existed first. I've fallen in love and broken my own heart and struggled to find my way. I've been human. I've been ALIVE.
The Lone Power doesn't want me to believe that, whispers lies about my worthlessness into my head, hoping I'll X myself*-- whether physically through suicide, or just figuratively by giving up, snuffing out This Little Light Of Mine. That's what this is. This is a FIGHT AGAINST EVIL. WE ALL HAVE WORTH. Anyone who says different is a TOOL OF THE DEVIL. Snuffing out light.
So please, this isn't about The Other, Those Crazy People, Why Would They Do Something Like That. This is about beautiful people, full of life, who can't see their own great potential, and in a moment of crisis, it's gone. Please help keep everyone's light burning.
TWLOHA's National Suicide Prevention Week main post.
The Bloggess offers her own take. See? It's sometimes the most brilliant, hilarious people who doubt themselves the most.
And E. Louise Bates' take on it this morning. I love her, just like I love all of YOU. AND I REALLY MEAN IT.
*What, I mix fictional mythologies a lot. It's just they both FIT, they both perfectly say what I'm thinking. This is the POINT of Story, after all.
To be honest, I probably wasn't in any danger of it. My utter PASSIVITY is one of my biggest faults, and yet it's probably saved my life several times. So I've never actually been SUICIDAL. I always just go the curl-up-in-the-corner-and-wait-for-death-to-arrive-itself route.
But the balcony was tempting, a place to toss my failures and self-loathing and repressed rage. I'd been sticking up for somebody else, actually, on the bus on the way to this high school field trip. One of the perpetrators had shot back "Oh, watch, you're gonna cry about it now." And my tear ducts betrayed me. Again. I HADN'T been in danger of crying until she said that. But it REMINDED me that I'd always been a crybaby and even though I was much less of one now I still would be to everyone in this school forever and I was such a blotchy ugly naive nerd who would never belong anywhere and all anyone has to do is say "cry" and I do it and I HATE MYSELF SO MUCH, and so I sat in that theater staring at the balcony railing and wanting more than anything to flip myself over it and be done with it. Done with myself. But I had, as usual, a notebook and pen with me, and I wrote out the frustration instead, and halfway down the page I noticed, but it's only SCHOOL-Me I hate. At-home-Me is fine. Writing-Me is a lot of fun, even. I just want to throw SCHOOL-Me over the balcony and keep the rest. And there's only a couple more months until graduation! A couple endless, miserable months, but once they're over, School-Me will be gone, too.
So, shout-out to the ever-present notebook. Sneaking the truth in there on me when all I could feel were the lies. But it's the last part I'm thinking about most, today. In only a couple (admittedly long) months, the problem was going to fix itself. Not that I didn't run into variations on this problem many other times in the next seventeen years. Not that MORE horrible aspects of myself that I wanted to toss overboard wouldn't rear up and take over and leave me huddled in the corner, luckily far too passive to do anything about it. But I'd move on, discover new things, meet new people, ACCOMPLISH new things... and those things never would have happened if I'd offed myself when I thought I should have been offed.
Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. It's an issue that means a lot to me, even though I've never lost anyone close to me that way. It's an issue that, whenever something pops up on social media, I always RT or share or whatever, no matter how many other Worthy Issues people post about that I mostly just ignore. It's an issue that scares me, because I understand it. Like I said, I'm lucky-- I'm lucky for being a passive wimp, who couldn't commit suicide because that would require her to make a decision and act upon it, right in her least effective state. But I've been in That Place. I've let the lies eat me to bits, convince me I'm Not Worth Living. But I know they're lies. And I've seen hope-- I've seen that things can improve-- I've seen that someone who thinks they're worthless today can bring so much light into the world tomorrow.
The problem with suicide is, you never get a chance to come out of the abyss. You never get a chance at BETTER. There's no turning back when circumstances change or you learn something new that helps you grow and deal. It's just OVER.
I didn't understand suicide when I was younger-- I imagine a lot of adults still don't. I remember learning about Sylvia Plath in high school English, and thinking she was so messed up, crazy-- I defined her whole life by her death. And I think I may have picked some of that attitude up from adults, actually. That there was something disturbingly Other about people with mental illness. Only a Crazy Person would kill themselves, end of story.
Last spring I saw this photo of Sylvia Plath as a teenager. I usually avoid showing other people's pictures in my posts so as to not deal with the Complications, but I want to copy this picture right here so you can get a look at it:
I mean, LOOK at that girl. See how she GLOWS. See how she studies that flower as if there was something amazing in it that only she could see (and maybe there was). Wonder where she is, why she's there? What she's thinking now-- something seems to be amusing her slightly-- and what was she thinking this morning when she picked out that particular dress, brushed her hair and pulled it back that particular way?
How could I ever have defined that girl by her death? She has a LIFE, that she's already lived until now, and she's brimming with potential, and she's going to achieve some of that potential someday-- until she gives up. Snap. It was all over. But until that moment, THERE WAS LIFE. And that life DID make a difference. How much more of a difference might she have made, if she hadn't so suddenly STOPPED?
So I've grown up, since high school English, living with mental illness-- a depressingly common mental illness, but one that could easily lead to suicide, anyway. So I'm a Crazy Person, now? But I'm also a daughter and sister and wife and mother and friend. I've had laughs and fun and embarrassments. I've made Art, I've made friends, I've literally made two people, two people who WOULDN'T EXIST AT ALL if I hadn't existed first. I've fallen in love and broken my own heart and struggled to find my way. I've been human. I've been ALIVE.
The Lone Power doesn't want me to believe that, whispers lies about my worthlessness into my head, hoping I'll X myself*-- whether physically through suicide, or just figuratively by giving up, snuffing out This Little Light Of Mine. That's what this is. This is a FIGHT AGAINST EVIL. WE ALL HAVE WORTH. Anyone who says different is a TOOL OF THE DEVIL. Snuffing out light.
So please, this isn't about The Other, Those Crazy People, Why Would They Do Something Like That. This is about beautiful people, full of life, who can't see their own great potential, and in a moment of crisis, it's gone. Please help keep everyone's light burning.
TWLOHA's National Suicide Prevention Week main post.
The Bloggess offers her own take. See? It's sometimes the most brilliant, hilarious people who doubt themselves the most.
And E. Louise Bates' take on it this morning. I love her, just like I love all of YOU. AND I REALLY MEAN IT.
*What, I mix fictional mythologies a lot. It's just they both FIT, they both perfectly say what I'm thinking. This is the POINT of Story, after all.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-09-11 01:22 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2013-09-12 05:07 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2013-09-12 12:38 pm (UTC)From:To know that our lives matter. It is a wonderful gift.
no subject
Date: 2013-09-12 05:06 pm (UTC)From:Poor tree!
Date: 2013-09-25 06:47 pm (UTC)From:Re: Poor tree!
Date: 2013-09-25 07:05 pm (UTC)From:What you said, but switch around who the "you"s and "I"s refer to!