My topic might not be appropriate for this essay, but it's the only thing I'm fairly good at writing about- suicide. Every 3 seconds, someone attempts to take their life. Every 40 seconds, someone succeeds. I think that this is such an important thing to understand because it's overlooked by society today. If an adult or teenager sees a cut or scar on a person's arm, I'm sure the thought of, "oh, that person is depressed," crosses their mind, but they don't bother to do anything about it. It's almost as if they're afraid, because these people are labeled as "freaks."
In my mind, your body and mind is held together by strings. Each person, place and thing within your world has it's own string in your life. The sad thing about this is that the people that are sad only have very few strings, and none of them seem to be happy ones. To me, as a person starts thinking more and more about suicide, it's because their strings are very thin and breaking. They play them out as long as they can, but they don't last very long. It's like a guitar- all six chords together sound melodious. But if one or two or three breaks, it strums into a horrid tone. If one or two or three strings break in a sad person, that's one or two or three things keeping them alive. People never see that someone is falling apart because it's as if people are allergic to someone that is so "cowardly" as to take their life. I don't believe suicide is cowardly, by the way.
In school, I see the sadness on student's faces. Ones with fake laughs and smiles, ones with eyes that are dead. I notice it. All of it. I walk around school and see the cuts and scars on all of these student's arms, and I wonder how teachers can bypass that. How they can pass out papers to a girl who's arm is a portrait of scars and not say a single thing about it. Depressed people very nearly never ask for help, but they want it. Their silence is their cry for help and they may always say that they're fine, but in reality, they're dying inside. Even right now, as I'm writing this, there are three girls within this classroom hiding their scars. Two girls hiding their arms with dark blue sweatshirts and one girl thankful that it's cold and she had to wear pants, so she could cover the ones on her thighs. Just so you know, these girls are most definitely not who you think they may be.
The people who dream about taking their life; the ones who spend days before saying goodbye and giving stuff away as hints, but no one seems to notice; these are the people that when they die, everything suddenly clicks. Everyone suddenly remembers all the little signs, and how they noticed them but didn't believe the person would actually go through with it. These people fill it in their heads that they are not worth it and if anything changed at all because they're gone, it would change for the better. People contribute to these thoughts through rumors, bullying and peer pressure. Depressed people don't seem to be human beings to people who aren't sad. They're thought of things, because things don't have feelings and things don't care about what happens and things get abused every day but it does not matter because they are just things. I want to tell you that depressed people are not things. They are the most lovely creatures I have ever come across because they have the largest hearts. But people don't seem to see that until after a person commits suicide.
While a person is living on Sunday, he/she is just a thing. As the person is dead the next day, he/she is thought of as an angel. And if people were to tell this person that he/she was an angel, maybe they'd still be alive on Monday.
