If You Knew Me

You're Not Alone - A Spoken Word

For everyone who’s ever felt alone, I’m sorry.

For everyone who’s ever felt unloved, I’m sorry.

For everyone who’s ever cried herself to sleep, I’m sorry.

For everyone who’s ever held a knife inches from his wrist, I’m sorry.

For everyone who’s ever held a bottle of pills in her hands and considered swallowing, I’m sorry.

For everyone who’s ever laid in bed with pain gnawing holes in his soul, I’m sorry.

For everyone who’s ever fought the blackness with the darkness in her own heart, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I'm sorry.

 

If you let it, pain replaces every good thing. If you let it, pain slices you to pieces. If you let it, pain turns you into a black hole, and any happiness you encounter gets sucked in and crushed into nothingness. If you let it, pain fills every space in your heart. Pain belongs to every race. It leaves a mark on every face. And just in case you’re wondering, I’ve been to that place, and those tears and those nights have left scars on my face. They’re scars nothing can erase. You’re not alone.

 

I’ve been to that place. Those were the days when I sat in the dark. Those were the days when I broke my own heart. So afraid that I had to cry, so alone that I wanted to die.

 

Those were the weeks when everything was wrong. The weeks when I would wake up every morning with an unbearable weight on my shoulders, feeling decades older, my emotions flying up and down like a roller coaster. The weeks when I would drag myself out of bed, wash the tears from my eyes, try ignore the present and look ahead. The pain was all I could see, was all I could be, clouding my mind, making me blind. I don’t know what twisted, bent, and broke my mind. I don’t know what tormented me inside. I couldn’t help it, prevent it, or mend it, just curse the thing that sent it.

 

Eventually, I realized I was not alone. I had people, friends, and loved ones to hold. I broke free of my chains. I could follow my dreams. But sometimes, deep in the night, I can feel those chains rattling in my mind with all their might, reminding me of scars and brokenness. But I am not broken. I am whole.

If you see someone hurting, don’t stop and ask why. Just hold them while they cry. Don’t ask how they’re doing, “how’s it going?” or what’s up; they could be at the point when they’ve given up and had enough. One tiny thing could push them over the edge– the edge of a cliff, arms outstretched, towards goodness they feel they can never catch.

 

Daylight fades, color is gone, despair is reigning, everything’s wrong, smiles disappear, night is too long. They don’t understand, don’t they know? Can’t they see the tears in your eyes, and how long will they continue to believe that lie, that you’re “fine”? But you’re not, and you wish with all your heart that someone would realize, notice, care. That when the door is closed, and the stars are dark and you have no hope, that someone is there. Someone that sees the words in your throat, someone that feels the tears in your eyes. You want empathy, not sympathy, understanding, not pity.

 

So next time you see someone hurting, just listen. Pain has many voices. Suicide is only one of the choices.