There is a quote, a meme I’ve seen on Facebook, that reads…
“The bravest thing I ever did was continue my life when I wanted to die”
I don’t know where that quote originated. At first glance, it’s powerful and holds some truth but if staying alive is brave; what’s the opposite scenario?
I wasn’t being brave when I chose to stay alive. I wasn’t being a coward when I planned my suicide or when I swallowed that bottle of pills.
I was hurting and exhausted.
I wasn’t brave or strong all the times I did nothing after I had cried out for it to all be over; after I had given up trying to fight or pretend.
I was broken and helpless, so helpless that I hadn’t the energy to even complete the task at hand. I wasn’t even good at dying.
I was empty. I felt nothing. I had no hope of ever rising above the madness or rising at all. Motionless, emotionless and every other thing-less.
But never brave or strong or intelligent or worthy. Never worthy, of happiness or pleasure or contentment or relief.
I would then think to myself, emptiness is a step up from pain in a sense. I can do this. Feel nothing, be nothing, do nothing. I’m really good at the last one.
Resolve to accept the even keel of numbed emotions.
Sleep. Wake. Function. Repeat.
Depression and the suicidal thoughts that follow never allow me to maintain those four simple steps. They have other plans for me. Deviously waiting for me to think that I’m ever going to be better than just okay.
Sleep. Wake. Slip into the dark pit of hell. Repeat.
I know some of you know exactly what I’m talking about.
There’s one more step I need to add…
For no other reason than the sake of holding on, if that’s all you’ve got, grab it.
Don’t worry about being brave or strong, just don’t let go.