Prevention Prose

And you want to run . . .
. . .you really do
but you can’t . . .

You can’t because there’s nowhere to go
too many people depend on you
you want to hide but there’s no place to go

You think to yourself,
“It would be nice if the world would stop for a minute.”

(But it never does)

(Never)

You want to go someplace else . . .
. . . but you can’t
You can’t go anywhere . . .

It feels like;
how can I say?

It’s like there’s a weight tied to you
and it either holds you down
or drags you back.

Either way,
you can’t breath
you feel closed in
like you’re in a box, or something
It’s like being in a cage,
Only, no one can see the bars but you

You want to break free
and feel better
You want to laugh and smile like the next guy
but for some reason
laughs and smiles are only temporary

At least that’s how it was for me.

Next, you start to consider the consequences
You start to wonder what would happen. You know?

You wonder what would happen if one day
you just never showed up.

You ask yourself, “Who would miss me?”
And you know the answer to this
but the volume of that answer seems to be muted
by the long drawn out conversation you have in your head.

You start testing yourself.
You test the boundaries of life and death.

It’s not to die, so much.
Not really
It’s more to see if you can do it

You want to see how easy it is
so you do things like play with the blade
to feel it slice your skin.

You test the waters
you test your friends and your loved ones

You say things to see how they would react.
Maybe you give them something; and it could be small,
but what you give them is something important
almost like a small token of appreciation,
or something to remember you by.

You give something like an unspoken farewell.
Meanwhile, deep down
you hope to God that someone notices
and maybe if someone noticed
maybe you wouldn’t feel so damned alone
maybe if someone knew without you having to explain yourself
maybe then the long, drawn out conversations in your head would stop.

And you know your plans will hurt the ones you love
. . .you don’t mean to
You don’t want to hurt anyone
but the pain inside . . .
is worse than the thought of loved ones crying at your funeral.

“They’ll get over it,” you say.
“Eventually, they’ll feel better,” you tell yourself
Then you remind yourself,
“But I won’t,” and you go along
as if you’re all alone
Know why?
It’s because no one understands.
You’re unreachable
You can’t be fixed.
Nothing seems to work out
Nothing seems to stop moving
the inevitable creeps in.

But you want something to stop . . .
. . . You really do
You want it all to stop . . .
. . .but nothing ever does.

You make deals with yourself
(At least, I did)
You ready yourself
You practice to see if you can do it
You dare the edge
You try these tiny attempts to dare the big fall
but you’re not ready yet.

Want to know what this is like?
It’s like holding your breath and putting your head under water
Say like, in the bathtub or in a pool or something

You sit as still as possible and hold your breath as long as you can
You hold it until you can’t hold your breath anymore
then you hold a little longer
just to see how uncomfortable drowning really is

And when you can’t do it,
you pop your head out of the water, quickly,
with a loud inhale as you gasp for air

And you want to make the trip
but you can’t yet
You want everything to stop
but it won’t

You don’t want to hurt anyone
at least not really –
you just don’t want to hurt yourself anymore.

At least, I didn’t.

I think the worst part of my last attempt
was waking up on the floor
and realizing what I just did.

I think the most frightening part of my attempt
is when I realized how close I was—or better yet,
how easy it is to kill yourself

Someone once told me there was a reason why I didn’t die
He said there’s a reason why I’m still here

“You need to tell your story,” he said.
“It just might help someone.”

And I know you want the help
You really do
The only problem is the lies you tell yourself
lead you to believe your on your own

You’re all alone
and no one,
no one at all
cares what will
or will not happen

But that’s a lie
Believe me.

It’s all a painful lie . . .

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