suicidal thoughts are more complicated than normal people think. they don't start with "I want to kill myself". they don't start with a thought out plan. They take years to develop into that. They start as an innocent voice in your adolescent had.
This voice does not yell, she whispers. careful not to scare you. She approaches you slowly, and embraces you-in what feels like warmth. She doesn't tell you to slit your throat- not yet. she asks "do you ever wonder what the world would be like if you weren't here?" and you think. because this isn't something you've ever thought about.
soon, she comes back and asks a similar question. "would the world be better or worse without you?" this 'choice' she gives you suddenly makes you aware of all the times you've been overlooked. or talked over. or forgotten about. and you start to think that your existence doesn't have too much of an effect on others. This voice is tricky like that.
next time, she says "maybe we don't mean anything". this cunning word choice makes doesn't make you feel completely isolated. she said "we". this makes it so you don't feel the urge to confide in someone. she doesn't want anyone to know. she wants to stay burrowed in your brain.
as time goes on, she offers "what if's"
"what if we jumped off a bridge? what would happen?"
"what if we hung ourselves? how would people react- if they reacted at all?" and at first- you're reluctant to do anything so drastic, but there's this screaming in your head. this constant, piercing scream. she offers an alternative. she tells you that a single blade can get rid of it all. and she's right. you have control for once. and it's a release from everything. and its enough- for a while.
but, one day, the blood doesn't feel like enough- even when it's dripping down your thigh- headed for your cream colored carpet.
this time, she says "what if you swallowed all the pills in the cabinet?" and you're no longer terrified of this idea. you begin to embrace it. and you hold the pills in your hand. but you hear your mama wake up, so you say "maybe not tonight."
this goes on for a while. the "not yet's" until one night, things get so bad. you're broken hearted. you lost your friends. your reputation is ruined. rumors floating around. -that's when you right your suicide letters to everyone. and you grab the pills again- except this time, you're crying so much, you don't hear your mama wake up. and she comes in to see her daughter surrounded by pull bottles. and she takes you to therapy.
but the voice is patient.
and she will wait.
