Don’t panic, I have never and never will attempt suicide. However, standing at the edge of the cliff, I sometimes ponder, “What if I jump?”
You’d think the ones that aren’t broken (at least, those who appear to be) wouldn’t commit suicide, but you’re wrong. You’ve heard those stories. That popular girl with high grades, perfect hair, all the boys chasing after her. That girl on the student council. That girl who has it all together. That girl who has always been on a pedestal, with others looking up to her. But the next time you see her, she’s high up, dangling, with a rope around her neck. She didn’t show any signs. She didn’t even leave any suicide note. Maybe she just wanted people to remember her at her best, not the mess she was inside. I know what you’re thinking. You have so many questions, the most important question being “Why?”
I find the number one reason why people commit suicide is pressure. Peer pressure. Pressure from your parents. Pressure from society. Pressure you have on yourself. For girls like her, and me for that matter, have always been pressured to be that girl. I’ve struggled to keep up with other people’s expectations of me (and of my own) and when I fall short, I spiral into depression. Now if you’re the type of person who bottle things up, such feelings of insignificance can be deadly. I’ve never been the type of person who has a high self-esteem, being the girl who used to wear glasses with her hair always up in a ponytail. People never really gave a second look at me. I was a wallflower. And a pushover. I didn’t know how to stand up for myself. It took a lot to build up my self-esteem. I thought that no one would help me change but myself. So I started dressing nicer, not for others, but for myself. My curly hair, which I used to hate for being different, is now my crowning glory. I started making friends. Real ones. But sometimes this confidence falters and I fall into a black hole, and such depressing thoughts suffocate me. I’m practically drowning. Sometimes I think of what would happen if I just disappear. No one would care, right? I mean, I was so used to people not giving a fuck about me. People didn’t really listen and I was scared of what they would think of me. I don’t want them to see me vulnerable. And sometimes it just feels like there’s nobody left to trust. So what was the point? It’s easier to put a knife to my throat than having words stabbed at my back, my own thoughts weaving a noose.
Then I realized how a selfish wish it is to let dying as an escape. You don’t just end your life, a part of someone else dies too.