Editor’s Note: This column deals with suicide. If you or someone you know is considering suicide or experiencing a crisis, help is available. Call or text 988 or dial 1-800-715-4225 to reach someone at the Georgia Crisis and Access Line. You can also download the MyGCAL app for Android or Apple iOS.
I was rummaging through an old file in my office labeled “Reflections” and found a poem among the papers. I noticed the date, March 1988, was written on the bottom left corner of the page.
Please, let me go.
Let me vanish into a place
Where my spirit will flow
Far away, into a never-ending tomorrow.
I have had enough of trying to try
Laughing when I hurt
Giving and giving
Just more work.
Please, let me die.
For I am but a burden
To those who have listened
Only to cry.
I’m only getting worse.
May I go?
My life’s a curse.
I know you will forgive me,
If I interrupt your plan
And let me go by my own hand.
I fought the fight.
Now I’m tired.
Let me retire
Into your soft night.
Oh, my plans!
You always win
Finding a way to
Give me hope again.
You saved me; heaven knows why
To find purpose, rhyme.
You carried me when I couldn’t
Thank you, God,
For loving me
Even when I didn’t.
While reading what I wrote in 1988, years slipped away, and I recalled the feeling of being on the inside of depression and darkness. I realized most people only view suicide from the outside, looking into those lives who see only blackness.
The voyeur cannot begin to understand the sorrow that lies in the hearts of those who take their own lives. The outside world cannot comprehend those who live in a space where sadness is so profound it feels as if happiness only belongs to others.
When suicide seemed the only way to find rest for myself, I believed the world would be a far better place without me. My depressed mind thought my family would be free from my tears and their worry about me gone. I felt I bothered the world, bothered my family, and I was a bother to myself. I hated being me.
My world was consumed by depression, and when God showed me a glimmer of hope, I took it. I worked hard to walk away from the cliff beckoning me to jump, and instead, I climbed up the mountain to find life, not death.
I am one of the ones who survived the tomb of the lost. Its darkness does not discriminate between the young or old, rich or poor. Clinical depression isn’t the only reason one can enter the tomb. Situational despair from a tragic loss, physical illness, financial distress, failure, addictions, bullying, pressure, resentment, and other reasons can place one among the lost.
When a well-known person dies by suicide, we don’t quite understand why, when they seemed to live the dream, they would choose death. They weren’t living a dream; they were existing in a nightmare.
Since suicide is on the rise, as well as mental illness, it is way past the time for us to reveal who we are. It is time to share our journeys and care about each other. We must be brave enough to talk about our struggles so that others understand they are not alone.
Plus, this idea that mental illness is a sign of failure or selfishness is archaic. Everyone needs to trash judgemental thinking because too many are suffering and dying, including our children. Let’s love one another and show compassion. We must stop the whispering and start listening.
If I could be in the same room as the person who is ready to jump from life to death, I would grab their arm and tell them the story of me.
“There were moments when I had to fight to live, just like you. Times when loneliness and fatigue multiplied the depression. Times when I worried about money, weariness from jobs, and sadness followed me around like a shadow. The good news is that I am with you now and ready to pull you away from the edge.
If you fall, you will miss seeing what is awaiting you tomorrow. I found help, talked, shared, prayed, and because I did, I could see my children grow into beautiful adults. I saw a precious granddaughter join the world. I fell in love. I continued my career, giving it all I could, and when it was over, I started my dream of writing.
The bullies will move away, rudeness will be forgotten, and loss will ease with time. So, don’t die; let me take you to see the light of tomorrow.
Tomorrow will turn into weeks, and with work, weeks will turn into the future and one that will feel sad if you are not there.”
Everyone is vital and has a reason not to give up. God showed me purpose, gave me a voice, and granted me the courage to live long after 1988.
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Lynn Walker Gendusa is a Georgia author and columnist. Her latest book is “Southern Comfort: Stories of Family, Friendship, Fiery Trials, and Faith.” She can be reached at www.lynngendusa.com.
For more on Georgia’s suicide prevention line, click here.
