I have always been both a
firm believer and a staunch critic of the interconnectedness of
people. There are times I believe we are all strands on a cosmic web,
and times when I feel as if I know for certain one human being can
never truly touch another.
On Wednesday, I was the
closest I have ever been to killing myself.
To anyone other than
myself, those two paragraphs seem completely unrelated. But I promise
you, they aren't.
About six thirty
Wednesday evening, my best friend texted me, saying she felt weird,
and that she was worried about me. I told her I would call her later,
and continued to fight with the dark cloud that had settled over me,
my mind, my heart, and my senses.
While I did that, a girl
in Germany, aged 17, saw the cry for help I had posted online. While
I wandered dorm hallways and leaned out of third floor windows, she
posted on her blog, asking for help on my behalf. She called and
emailed my school from across the world.
Around seven, I logged
into my Tumblr, looking for distraction, and saw over one hundred
messages asking me to be safe and alive and healthy.
By seven forty-five, I
had talked to two different friends on the phone—one 200 miles
away, and one approximately 1,000—who told me they felt weird and
were beyond glad to hear that I was alright.
At midnight, a friend I
had kind of lost touch with said she had heard what had almost
happened. She confessed to me that she's had a nervous breakdown at
work earlier in the week, and she had tried to kill herself. She was
now in counseling and on medication. She said she wanted to make sure
I knew I wasn't alone.
Around twelve-thirty
Thursday morning, I found out a friend on campus had hit his worst
mental state in a long time. “I don't want to talk about it,” he
said. “I'm going to sleep.” And I let him, but only because
something in me said he'd be there to talk to in the morning. (He
was.)
At one in the morning, I
got a text from the man I still think of as my soul mate. I didn't
read it until I woke up, but when I did, I cried. “It scares me how
much we still sync up. I hope you're doing okay.”
I awoke this morning
(Thursday) to my school counselor knocking on my door. Since then,
I've met with her, set up future appointments, and begun talks of
therapy and possible medication. I called my mother and cried on the
phone to her, and tonight, everything is alright. For me, at least.
I hope I don't lose sight
of this—of the way I am inextricably bound to these other souls,
some more closely than others, but all of them bright and beautiful
and on fire.
If you're reading this, I
love you.
If you're reading this,
thank you.
