Picking up the Pieces

"This year over 1,000 college students will kill themselves. March is the month with the highest rate of suicides. "
Via Post Secret

The day that I have been obsessing over is steadily approaching whether I want it to or not.

When I was 13 I wanted to die. I may not have been a college student then but the feeling kept resurfacing itself later in life. When I was 13 I wanted to die and my family knew. The night that I attempted to slice my arms open I was taken to the hospital. The psych ward is a place I would never like to venture to again. Yet it didn't stop me from feeling the pain. I lied to the doctors and told them I didn't want to die anymore. The walls were closing in and I needed to get out so I did what I had to do. I followed all the rules and took the pills they gave me. The pills they gave me made me a zombie. Emotionless and voided I traveled through the days. Three days to be exact, and then I was released into the open world again with all the "normal" people. Pretending was what I did best.

When I was 20 I wanted to die. This time no one cared, and then I realized I didn't. Everything was falling apart and I didn't know how to pick it up again for the millionth time in my life. As soon as I sliced my arm I felt the pain burst out with the release of blood. I knew I didn't want to die but I was sick with misery pretending that I was fine. The truth was I needed help, and I got it.

Leaving the country was one of the best things to ever happen to me. All of my mistakes were left behind and I got to escape from the drugs that were surrounding me every day of my life. The drugs that were drowning me when all I wanted was a distraction. Misery was left behind when I left only to come seeping in as soon as I returned. Two months after my return to the good ole USA my best friend died of a heroin overdose. Sadness was all around me, but this time, I did not want to die.

Something in me was different when I returned. I valued myself before everyone else because I knew if I didn't no one else would. The truth was no longer that I was sad, it was that I knew how to deal with it for the first time in my life. Loss of control was something I always had feared but not anymore because I know that I can get it back. Slowly but surely I pick up the pieces.

I refuse to let this man control my life the way that he did years ago. Now I am in control because I have pried myself off of the floor so many times. The images have been haunting me more and more the closer it gets, but this time I am facing them, remembering, and rendering them powerless. Slowly but surely I will always pick up the pieces. Each and every time.


*Please, if there is anyone you know, or don't, that is struggling with existence and you think you can help do not hesistate. All it takes is one person, hand outstretched, to comfort someone in need.