Katy, age 19. Jacksonville, FL.
"There is no cure. That’s the truth; no doctor or family member will pronounce. When we admit there is no light at the end of the tunnel, we have given ourselves no closure. What’s living if were not hoping? Come on really, what’s the use of this fucking terrible life, if we can’t dream of living a fucking wonderful life? Why? God damn’t why, must we even breathe?
Ok, when this ultimate high breaks, we let our brains settle. We go by, living a day by day basis, always breathing. But, were dead, barely baring the placid sky. And, we settle down in our sheets, still there is no cure. Valium, prozac, xanax, nothing removes what the doctor recommends. Why do these feelings surround us? When having everything seems like nothing. When death feels so close we just may burst. It’s sensual, we feel a temptation and we feel special. But, yet we always, always want it out.
What is it that we want out?
And more importantly, why do we seek such vengeance against what
“In my mind life is an unlivable loudness. People saunter with their heads up high; no one bothers to look into my troubled soul. Echoes, murmurs, rumors, sounds shake, leading my heart to break. I wear an invisible soul that people walk right over. And yet, I sometimes wonder why I am so helpless. Everyone has insecurities, but it is only mine, which draw all over. They leave me with a bottle of pills, in which I have no desire to swallow, due to my lack of triumph. It is not that I want to be non-existent; I am not yet hopeless. Although absolutely numb, I still feel and just because my bones break doesn’t mean I won’t heal. Dealing is a way of life, feeling is only negative in mine.”
That was just one of the myriad pre-suicidal poems written in my journal full of melancholy, flustered thoughts and poetry. I was seventeen with a life full of the unexpected. Every expectation, every proposal for the perfect future had collapsed. Seventeen years of uttered rebellion and reiterated suicidal thoughts can compels one’s brain to pivot. Not even all the drugs, therapy or shrinks could fulfill the emptiness of my enter-being. I needed people to understand that I did not have answers, only pain that would not elapse. They needed to recognize what I was going thru without thinking I was some deranged freak. Truthfully, I needed to want to get better. I had to want to see the sunrise before my eyes, a fresh patch of yellow roses and the ocean sway. I needed to enjoy everyday because life is not everlasting. I needed to stop sorrowing over every sullen, isolated thought. Most significantly, I needed not to need, but to want to live."