It’s New Years Eve. And something about that is supposed to mean hope, but the prospect of a new year does not mean that for me. What does bring me hope today is my coffee shop laced with twinkling lights and sparkling ornaments, left over from Christmas. I felt hope when I saw a man running in the snow with a smile on his face. I felt happy when the man I was sitting next to called his daughter’s friend “sweetheart” when she showed up.
When I tell someone I’m suicidal, they advise that I try to notice the small beauties in the day. I think the hardest part is that I do. I have been brought to tears by the sight of snow shining in the moonlight. I have been fascinated by the way grass smells in May. I can remain elated for an entire day from one good laugh. But when you start noticing the little things, you can’t ignore the bad parts. I see the sadness in the eyes of classmates. I see the trash left on our hiking trails, the giant island of trash in the Pacific that the world ignores. I see the lies laced in every advertisement, and worse, the news stories. My problem is noticing too much.
The times I feel most like staying are when I hear a pleasant song. Not when I hear one that stops me, grabs me — those are too much. But songs where a boy with a pleasant voice is playing a guitar and singing about a little bit of love I feel okay then.
I know it’s scary for everyone that I want to die. I have seen it break too many hearts, so now I mostly keep quiet. I could never do the slashing, swallowing, or jumping because of all those hearts. There are too many people who love me, I could never do that to them. But I think if it was just me I’d be gone by now. Then again if there was no one to love, I might want to live.
School starts again soon. I am beginning to worry I won’t pass my classes, again. Failure is a funny thing when you don’t care enough to taste the shame of it.