I don’t think I’d ever have the courage to stand on top of the Brooklyn Bridge and jump as if wings would magically grow and I’d fly somewhere to safety. I don’t know how a knife feels against my skin, when the blood leaks onto my pillows, and gets all over my blanket. I never had to hide pill bottles under my bed so my mother and friends wouldn’t find out whenever they came over. I never had swim too far out into the ocean and hope the waves would somehow consume me, and I’d drown physically as I already did mentally.
No, I was never brave enough to take my own life. I can’t say I will ever do so. And you may say I do not understand what it is like to wake up in the morning and wish I was laying with the dirt and soil. You can say that I don’t understand what it’s like to taste my own blood when I speak. No, I do not understand the tears that flow out of your eyes every night and I may never understand how you smile when you literally feel like death is riding with you every step of the way. I may not see darkness covering the sun and I may not feel the burn of this invisible match you try to set your own house down with, but I want to. I want you to show me what it is that drives you to the edge of this cliff you wish I’d push you off of.
And if you do, let me show you my side too. I want you to taste the sunlight on your skin and let these birds show you what it’s like to be liberated. Some mornings, even the sun does not wish to rise but it does every single day. Don’t you think the moon cries on some nights too? My dear, we all shed tears but I do not wish to drown in them. I do not wish for you to swim in your own pool of blood. So listen to me - I may not be brave enough to leave this life behind but I am strong enough to stay. I think you are too.
Death is not a topic I choose to write about. I could write about broken hearts and love steered wrong but not death, not even my own. Because I do not wish for the changing of weathers to end. I don’t choose to get lost in forests, but I do and so will you. You choose to swim but why let yourself drown? If you ride this roller coaster, you are going up but how can you expect it to just go one way? Where is the fun in that? Up and down, up and down - that is science. That is reality.
Stop locking yourself up in your room. You spend so many nights with wet blankets and so many dawns with tired, swollen eyes. Be strong and hold on. These self-inflicted wounds will lead to scars you wear on your skin forever. You try to hide these stories but stories are meant to be shared. You are built to endure, to be tough, and to be sturdy. You are born to fix and be fixed, not by me or anyone else but yourself. You are your own mess and my mother always told me that if I made it, I better clean it up. I believe that you can.
I may not understand but I want to. Let me in, please let me in so I can just listen. Because sometimes all you may need is someone just to be there, to watch you start to build yourself back together.
(via mingdliu)A Letter To The Ones I Wish I Could Save // A Story A Day #285 by Ming D. Liu
1. I sat in front of the mirror, legs bent like the intersection of a crossroad as though I’m trying to get a demon to show up and make me a deal. He comes in the form of blurred vision and shaky palms as I struggle to find the positives in the reflection. I feel entirely composed of negative ions, which I didn’t think was chemically possible. His laughter burns in my throat. I think I’m the one that laughed.
2. I had a salad for dinner and then I had an ice cream sandwich from the freezer that tasted like a kiss at two in the morning on a school night. Instead of his parents running in and catching us it was my scale, screaming numbers at me from the corner as I had a staring contest with the empty wrapper. My fists burrowed into the soft skin at my abdomen like it was winter and they were trying to find shelter before they froze. They might’ve made it in time, but I don’t know if my insides did. They twisted uncomfortably the rest of the night, like icicles.
3. I texted him two days ago and I didn’t cry when he told me about the girl with the green eyes and the red hair. Instead I dug out an old coloring book and two colors of marker and made all of the girls in the book the same way. I thought they were all beautiful.
4. I did not curl up into a ball and try to imagine myself as an armadillo last night. I let my toes reach to the edge of my sheet and I let my hands run over the cool surface of the pillow and I wondered what it must be like to feel bigger than something. It might be time for some new blankets, they bunched up a bit whenever I rolled over. It reminded me of how it felt to be touched.
5. I heard people laughing behind me in the hallway today and I did not ask to go to the bathroom next period just so I could calm down. I told myself a joke and wrote the punch line on my hand so that maybe next time I’m overwhelmed by the capacity people have to be joyous, I will look down and remind myself that I can be joyous too. I am not a joke. I am made of laughter.
6. I made a list of things I need to change about myself and then crossed it all out with an old tube of lipstick. I made a new list of places I want to visit someday, and cut out pictures from magazines to match. There’s something about collages that have always appealed to me, something about taking the broken pieces with no partner and creating something whole and collective. I used to collect keychains. Maybe I should find the box.
7. I wrote a poem and I didn’t write about how much I wanted to die or about how I dreamed of pools with ladders that led in but not out. I wrote about the four letter h word that rhymes with soap and makes me feel just as clean. I showed it to my mom and she cried. It was weird to wipe her tears.seven ways I tried to love myself, cgc (via dearyesterdays)