Selvmordets konsekvenser: en fortælling

If you haven’t noticed the scars on my hips or the fake smile on my lips or the forced laugh that I’ve adopted or the way I don’t care about the things I used to love, then don’t you dare stand at my grave and cry…

How can you cry for someone that you don’t even know?

So, you go to your room, close the door, and take out that suicide note you’ve written and rewritten over and over and over. You take out those razor blades, and cut for the very last time. You grab that bottle of pills and take them all. Laying down, holding the letter to your chest and close your eyes for the very last time.

The next day at school, there’s an announcement.

The principal tells everyone about your suicide. It takes a few seconds for it to sink in, and once it does, everyone goes silent.

Everyone blames themselves.

You teachers think they were too hard on you. Those mean popular girls, they think of all the things they’ve said to you. That boy who used to tease you and call you names, he can’t help but hate himself for never telling you how beautiful you really are. Your ex-boyfriend, the one that you told everything to, that broke up with you… he can’t handle it. He breaks down and starts crying. Your friends? They’re sobbing too, wondering how they could never see that anything was wrong, wishing they could have helped you before it was too late.