Can It Be Prevented?

When someone doesn’t want to live anymore?

Content Warning: This story contains themes of suicide and loss. Reader discretion is advised

I fear for myself. I am angry at myself, but I'm even angrier at those who have blood on their hands and feel no guilt.

I fear succumbing to the weight of it all. I'm angry at myself that I may have missed all the hints. I’m furious at those who make life so miserable that the person on the receiving end feels forced to abruptly erase themselves.

Have you ever witnessed a departure and realized the signs were there all along?

Did you choose to ignore them?

Did you brush them off as nothing?

Do you ever wonder if things would be different if you had acted - or were your hands too tied up with exclusive merry camaraderie to grab someone jumping off the edge?

Or worse - were you standing there all along, holding your breath, waiting for them to end it? Frustrated that they took too long to disappear, to be erased like an annoyance from your life?

There are so many roles in this tragedy: the perpetrators, the bullies, and the trolls; the indifferent, the strangers, the passersby, and the outsiders.

It breaks my heart to see all the ways a person could have been saved, only to know it is far too late.

But no one is perfect.

I'm no saint myself; I've walked with demons, I live with my own dark shadows, and I'm standing in a swamp.

Yet I am still burdened.

I don’t know why I took the blame upon myself, even though they were a stranger - even though I had no way of knowing, and it was far beyond my reach.

Am I too harsh on myself? Perhaps.

But even then, it's not as harsh as the world that broke them. My unearned guilt is heavy, but their indifference is a crime.

Maybe she just want to find someone to blame, pointing fingers and all—says someone who feels the sting of my words. But for those who feel a different sting, the one of helpless grief for a stranger... I see you.

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First published: Dec 28, 2023

If only they’d pause and take a breath. Perhaps things would blow over with time. The overwhelming darkness had snatched away everything.

Do people only appear when the weather’s fair and vanished like smoke when there’s storm looming?

Do hearts truly harden so swiftly, so selfishly?

So many questions, so few answers…

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

It’s the news. The word flashes across the screen screaming for my attention.

SUICIDE

A familiar ache punched me in the gut. My sorrow for the stranger. People I don’t know, faces I’ve never seen, yet my tears flowed.

They flow for the child that they’ll never see again, the lover that they left behind in this empty world and for the soul wrung with pain until it cracked beyond recognition.

What kind of problem that committing suicide can solve? What kind of problem that can’t be solved by living?

The solution may not be the outcome that we wanted, perhaps not a complete cure but at least there is still flicker of hope.

Does nobody care for them? Is anyone listening to them? Were they brushed off like some dust on the shoulder?

Why can’t anyone listen to them for once? Listening to them because their lives might depend on it.

Their pain may not be seen, it weighs no less heavy. We all carry invisible weights, hidden in plain sight. Why then, cast doubt on their struggles? Why invalidate their silent battles?

What’s with all the pull yourself together platitudes thrown at these people? They need empathy, not empty words.

Never condemn these weary souls who chose the final exit. Who are we to stand here and judge?

They deserved a chance, a sunrise after the longest night. They can change the reality if they are willing to try.

That things could be better for them if they choose to live.

I’m sure they can and I don’t want to be wrong of that. How I wished I could pull them out of this.

This is a stubborn hope in my heart.

©Britt H.

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