The following popped up in my Facebook newsfeed and I found it quite powerful.
The morning after I killed myself, I woke up.
I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and
used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit
into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed
the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.
The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down
the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger
or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in
love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding
each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with
sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my
note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who
once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying
desperately to believe I still existed.
The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way
her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the
sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a
stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw
nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle
and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard
where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined
how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few
weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the
paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the
kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.
The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each
orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a
single red cloud to his mother.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the
morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the
avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her
about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.
The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but
couldn’t finish what I started.
By Meggie Royer
Never, ever do anything so permanent because someone else is an asshole, because you don't have enough money, because you feel like you can never climb out of the hole that you're in, because someone said something, did something, started a rumor, touched you, hurt you, told you that you weren't worth the air you breathe - you are worth it. You can get out. You can overcome it. You can fix it. You can become stronger, you can "get over it", you can.
Please don't take your life - never give someone the satisfaction of "winning". Please call someone and talk about it. Call a suicide hotline - call your local law enforcement - it's easier to talk to a stranger over the phone than someone you know.
Suicide Prevention Contact Numbers
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