I once talked to a young girl who wished to die. At 12 years old she already decided her life was not worth it. I will never know if she went through with it, the amnesty of the internet protecting her. This was shortly after I decided to talk to people about depression, using my past experience as a compass guiding me to in hopes to give some small comfort. I will never learn this girl’s name, but her youth will stick to me. Learning that depression does not care about age, and its cruelty can strike anyone.
In February 2010, two girls hugged each other as a high speed passenger train ran them over at 110 miles per hour. A suicide pact, just a couple blocks from where I live. A third young girl who was meant to join them watched as their lives ended. They say only 1% of suicides are involved with pacts, made even rarer by the age of the young girls of only 16. Life moves on, but such heart breaking stories keep happening.
As someone who once thought the same way, who wanted to die, I want to help. However not everyone will hear what I have to say, and even less will listen. However, even if no one cares, I will still keep writing down my feelings. Life for me has never been about what I can see or touch, but how things make me feel. The feelings I have gained from such stories will stay with me, I will remember them, and i will share them in hopes they will be of use to someone else.