To the Person Sitting Down to Write Your Suicide Note

Please don’t leave yet.
Right now, it hurts;
everything is grey and fuzzy,
and nothing makes sense in your head
except sitting down and putting pen
to paper, a martyr fighting
for her last breath.

The nights have been cold for a long time.
The days have been even colder

-the sun doesn’t shine on someone who
dreams of the type of flowers lying on their grave.
I hope they are lilies,
the kind of bud that reaches with open arms
to the warmth of a sun that never seems to
find you.

But I hope they are not lilies yet.

Your bones shake in the middle of crowds
and calm themselves in the darkness.
Your bedroom doesn’t have to be
eternal damnation. There are far better places
to pretend you’re alive.

Your mother always tells you
how pretty you look in dresses as if she doesn’t know
you’ve only been wearing depression as
a thick, wool coat every day for the past three years.
Your mother always tells you
how much she loves you.
She’s right. About everything.
The way your soul blossoms in a dim amphitheater,
makes you feel again
-that’s how she feels about you all the time.
Please don’t leave her yet.

It’s cloudy today. Every time you peel back
the curtains, it’s a reminder
that the sky feels, too.
Today, you are sitting down with a pen in your hand,
and I hope you write a song instead.
There are things that make you happy;
your brain is just a bastard who
tells you otherwise.

You look for love at the bottom of
every ocean you dip your toe into.
No amount of salt seems able to wash away
a chemical imbalance. No amount of reassurance
from your sister of how cute you look
in that bathing suit will allow you
to shed that coat and dive in.

I hope you dive in.
I hope you take off the coat, and step into
a welcoming sun.
I hope your brain shuts the hell up.
I hope you dance in the rain as hard as you
dance in front of strangers in a concert hall.
I hope the flowers on your grave are lilies,
but please not yet.

The ocean may swallow you up most days,
but today I hope it spits you back out
to read this. And if for some reason
you can’t paddle your way out
of the treacherous current that is
your depression,
I will be here
with a hand waiting to lift you back up.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.
If you need support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. 

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Thinkstock photo by Nilanjan Bhattacharya