Every 40 seconds, someone dies by suicide. That’s a staggering number. I’m not writing today to fill up space with facts and figures. We all know about suicide and its devastating effects. We know we need to be kinder to one another. I’m not writing today to the people who already do this and who raise awareness to try to reduce the numbers of suicides. I’m writing to the person reading this that has felt low enough to consider completing suicide. I know how it feels.
I spent countless hours planning how I would end it all until I realized I didn’t really want to die. I just wanted the pain to stop. I know how much it hurts to feel that nobody cares. I know what it’s like to be alone with your thoughts when your thoughts are the one thing you’re most terrified of. I know whatever you do today you can make it to the next day, to tomorrow, to next week.
I know what it feels like to draw in a breath and feel like it might be my last, that no one understands how difficult such an automatic thing is to do. I did it anyway, with a thought in the back of my mind that I could keep going.
Sometimes, the reasons why seem trivial. It doesn’t matter. What matters is what gets you to take that next step, to draw in that next breath, and to keep moving forward. There is always a good reason to live, no matter how big or small that thing is, whatever makes you want to wake up tomorrow, that’s good enough.
It might be something as simple as getting out of bed, taking a shower, or brushing your teeth. If that’s all you can do, then do that. And do it again the next day and the day after that until you can add something else to your life.
Maybe it’s a new album from your favorite artist, the next episode of a television series, a new book, or a new movie. Right now, I’m looking forward to the new Terminator movie and Edward Snowden’s book, “Permanent Record,” which comes out on September 17.
If for no other reason, you want to be able to be here for two days in the future so you can make terrible jokes that others will laugh at. February 22, 2022 is 2-22-22. It lands on a Tuesday. You can feel free to call it “twos-day.” March 3, 2033 is 3-3-33. It is on a Thursday. You can call it “thirds-day.”
Find what works for you, what will make you say, “Yes, I want to see tomorrow.” What worked for me isn’t going to work for you.
I have screamed at the night sky, cursed the world from the silence inside my car, felt broken because every time I tried, I failed. But I wanted to know what happened next, to what happens during the cut-scene at the end of Metal Gear Solid? Will they ever make those sequels to Star Wars? Will Led Zeppelin ever sing together again? Will I ever be able to travel to the places I’ve dreamed about?
We all have a finite time on this planet. For me, all those years ago, I thought about the things I wanted to do and the places I wanted to travel. I thought if I did this, if I ended my life, I can never read the next book on my list, see wild animals on safari, climb Mount Vesuvius, or touch the ground on each of the seven continents.
My desire to die was partly a result of the many ghosts from my past defining who I was becoming despite the fact that each new day brought new experiences and opportunities. You are here. You are alive. Each day will bring you a new opportunity to learn something, no matter how minuscule it may be. It’s yours to learn, to take in, and to grow from it.
I know that as you read this, I probably haven’t convinced you yet to change your mind. You may feel alone, but you are not. There are many of us who understand.
Even though I may never meet you and you may only read these words I write once, I still want you to live. I hope you can find some peace in your life and learn to take that first step, whatever it may be, and keep going.
You are here now. You are here to be the most incredible you possible, even if that means you sit in your pajamas all day today, binge-watching television shows, and eating popcorn covered in chocolate.
The climb back up is slow and hard. It’s a difficult climb. I’ve been climbing for twenty-nine years since I decided to stay. It gets a little easier each day. Some days, I fall back a few steps and need to take small steps to keep going. I still have to tell myself it’s okay to make mistakes. It’s what humans do.
Holding on to those thoughts, being compassionate toward yourself, especially when your day is filled with struggles, takes courage and strength and I’m proud of you for holding on. Keep fighting.
Life would be less without you and I hope you choose stay.
Jennifer Harms
Thank you, Irene.