A couple of weeks ago I wrote a letter; basically a “Dear John” letter to suicide… all thoughts of it and agreement with it. You can check it out here:
A new friend of mine was inspired to write her own and gave me the permission to share it in order to inspire others going through the same things that we all tend to go through in our struggle with depression, anxiety, and/or suicidal thoughts. I admire her bravery and honesty and I hope you all do the same.
I’m still standing. But you’re also still standing. I really thought that I would have beaten you by now. I really did. I guess I’m still trying to beat you. I am sick of you overpowering me, abusing me, reducing me to a puddle of tears at night when people can’t see or hear me. The ironic thing is that I ran to you as a comfort when I was younger, when I was going through everything that has shaped me into the person that I am. I didn’t realize that I could end everything, but once I did, everything that I was worried about seemed irrelevant. I didn’t care.
I still use you as a comfort, come to think of it. I hate you so much, yet I also hide in your shadow because it’s the only place that’s familiar. And who doesn’t like familiar? As comforting as you are, the fact is that I’m no longer a child. You’re stopping me, and I can’t live my life waiting at your red traffic light that never changes. I tell myself there’s something better out there; you tell me that I’m worthless, that I won’t amount to anything. You press replay on all the memories that I don’t want to live like a scratched record replaying the same track, keeping me frozen where I am. I want to believe that I am worth something, that I am powerful. I am beyond sick of your voice screaming at me that I’m not. I don’t want you to define me. I don’t want to believe that I am a coward for not following through.
You don’t want me to change because if I change that means you will cease to have power over me. But I know that I am so much more than what you tell me I am. I am sick of living a half-life because of you. I am sick of smiling when I want to cry, lying and saying I’m okay when I’m really not. I am sick of looking at the world through fogged glass.
Someone once told me, “When you love your story, it’s because it’s a fact, not a factor.”
I want to make you a fact, not a factor. You are a puppet, not the puppeteer. That’s my job.
You were (and still are) such a strong presence in my life that it’s going to take time
to shake you off. I know that this won’t make you disappear, but at least it will help me to loosen your grip, even a little.
If you want to write your own letter, shoot me an email at firstname.lastname@example.org or click on “Contact YNF”. Anonymous submissions are always welcome.
Get Help here: http://yourenotfinished.com/get-help/
Much love, survivors! Stay strong.