Goodbye, Suicide

Poem:

Goodbye, suicide.
You were my first protector,
the dark arms that held me
when no one else could see the storm.

Fourteen times I reached for you,
fourteen times you opened the door.
And each time I stumbled,
I thought it was failure.
But now I see
it was an assignment.
A hidden lesson.
A quiet mercy.

I was meant to be here.
I just didn’t know how to stay.
I didn’t know how to breathe
without drowning.

But you,
you showed me my hunger for life
in the very act of trying to end it.
You showed me the strength of my pulse
by trying to silence it.
You taught me the way back to myself,
even through your shadow.

So thank you, suicide,
for being the first one to sit beside me
in the night,
for being the mirror
that forced me to look at my pain.

But this is goodbye.
Your work here is done.
I’ve found another protector now
the one inside my chest,
the one called self-love,
the one called breath.

I was meant to be here.
Now I know how to stay.
Now I choose to stay.

Goodbye, suicide.
Thank you for teaching me the way.
Hello, life.
I am here.

Walking Out of the Darkness

Yesterday my car lit up with so many warning lights that I knew I couldn’t drive it to the Out of the Darkness Walk today. I tried to find different ways to get there, but ultimately ended up taking the bus and the train. That might sound simple to some, but for me, with my social anxiety, it was a mountain. I haven’t been submerged in life like that in about ten years, maybe longer. But the purpose was worth it.

So I got up this morning, made my way through the buses and trains, and yes, it was overwhelming. But it was worth every moment when I finally arrived downtown. I walked three miles today. Three miles surrounded by people wearing supportive beads, by families and friends who were holding space for loved ones they’d lost.

As I walked, many worthwhile tears of joy fell on my face. Sometimes I liked them. Sometimes I didn’t. But they came anyway, and I let them come.

I felt a flash of survivor’s guilt. My first suicide attempt was at 13, and my family never supported me in the way I saw people supporting each other today. They just… waited. At least that’s how it felt. It was never a “we got you” type of love. There were always agendas. Always silence.

But every time I go to this walk, sometimes seeing the same families, sometimes seeing the crowd grow bigger and bigger, I feel both heartbreak and hope. Today, I had a thought: I would trade places with one of those people so their family could have them back.

Then I realized that was 13-year-old me speaking, the me who had nobody to look out for her, to check on her, to love and support her. Thirty-six-year-old me has all of that now.

So with each step of that three-mile walk, I started telling myself reasons why I deserve this life. Why I deserve each step. Why I deserve to see this year, this day, this beautiful sunlight on my face. Surrounded by all these people, surrounded by all this love, I realized: I deserve this.

I’m no longer living on borrowed time. That’s not who I am anymore.

Today I even held a giveaway for my I Love You Me shirt and spoke to about six people. So far, four have completed the questionnaire, and I’ll be waiting until 5:00 to pick a winner.

My body aches, like the body of a 36-year-old who hasn’t stretched in a while, but my heart feels full. Today was a beautiful experience. Against all odds, I made it. And I love that I am choosing to love me in a new way today.