Echoes of the Lost

Last words on yellow paper

I've never written a suicide letter, but I thought about suicide a couple of times, and I was never one to talk about my problems or tell about how I felt inside. I'm more of a quiet type. The I will figure it out on my own kind.
And when I'm drowning, I'd rather drown on my own because I'm too scared to pull someone that I Love down with me.
So I'm sorry if I ever leave.
I'm sorry I didn't scream when it felt like the ground was getting ripped from beneath my feet.
I'm sorry I didn't ask for help when I found it hard to breathe, when it felt like the weight of the world was slowly suffocating me.
I am sorry if I ever leave.

I've never written a suicide letter, but I've thought about suicide a couple of times. And the Beginning of 2023 was, though, I'm not gonna lie. I remember waking up and feeling drained, unable to breathe.

It felt like someone chained an anchor around my leg and threw me into the deep end of the sea. I always thought I had my demons at bay, but at the beginning of 2023, they broke loose from their chains, setting fire to my brain.

Everything I worked hard for came crashing down in a matter of seconds, and for the first time in years, I didn't know how to figure it out, and it scared me because I didn't know how to ask for help either.

How do I tell my family that I feel drained? How do I tell my best friend that I'm not okay?
How do I tell the people I love that I'm close to giving up? How do I tell them without breaking their hearts?

I remember waking up feeling defeated, unable to breathe. It felt like the weight of the world was crushing me. I remember rummaging through the old bathroom drawers, hoping to find an ancient friend of mine.
I remember the relief and terror I felt when I saw it wrapped in yellow Paper at the same place I had left it all those years ago.
And I remember holding the blade in my right hand, cold sweat running down my back, as old memories started flashing through my head.

I remember pressing the cold metal against my skin, but before I could do anything that I would regret, I wondered if it would be worth falling back.

Every faded line on my wrist holds a story I've never told. Every faded line reminds me of the struggles I've faced, and sometimes they make me feel strong, and sometimes they make me feel weak. Every faded line on my wrist holds a reason for me to stay. So yes, I've never written a suicide letter, but I thought about suicide a couple of times.

I remember feeling scared, but I wasn't scared of the blade or everything I could do; I was terrified of how much my body was begging me for relief, and it took everything in me to put the blade away, but I wasn't strong enough to put it back into its old hiding place. No, I couldn't even throw it away.

Why can't I get rid of the one thing holding me back? Why can't I let go of the one thing that could make me relapse? Why does it comfort me knowing it's only a reach away? I promised to stay, not let old habits get in the way. So tell me why? Why can't I throw the blade away?

I remember all the nights I've been falling asleep with tears streaming down my cheeks, and I remember the air in my lungs feeling heavy when waking up. I remember how badly I just wanted it to stop. I remember staring at the blade some nights, thinking how easy it would be to end my life.
But there is one night in particular that stuck in my head.
I was sitting on my bedroom floor, praying that someone would call. Praying for someone to ask if I'm alright.
Praying for someone to ask if I'm doing fine. But honestly, even if someone would have called, I would have told them a lie.

How do I admit that I was thinking of suicide?

I remember my fingertips lingered over your name, asking myself if you would pick up if I would call, but I quickly decided against it, unsure of what to say; how do I tell someone I'm far from being okay?

I might have been afraid that you would think I'm weak.
Maybe I was afraid that you would leave. Perhaps I just wanted someone to sit on the floor next to me.

I remember praying to god for a reason to stay, asking him when the pain and the empty feeling would finally go away. I remember everything as if it was yesterday.

The feeling of every inch of my body wanting me to relapse still haunts me to this day. I remember how lonely I felt and how scared I was of myself. And if I'm honest, I still am.
Sometimes, I'm still afraid of my mind, fearful of being alone or feeling out of control. And now that 2024 is only a few days away. I am terrified that it will start the same.