Hear My Cry

edicius.

See... *deep breath*

I feel the cold of the thin, sharp razor
Slit through my skin
And instantly all the pain is gone.
All emotions dissipate.
I'm free again.

The blood drops steadily to the floor.
My arm trembles as I lose more of it.
*deep breath*
Tears fall from my eyes,
Stinging the cuts on my arms.

But nothing can stop me.
I dig deeper into my flesh.
Hoping to hit the right spot.
Hoping to finally be done.

My knees buckle, unable to hold me.
I collapse to the ground.
Trembling, blood covers my T-shirt (and the cold, inviting floor).
The razor slides across the ground.

I outstretch my arm, trying to wrap my trembling finger around the blade.
But its too far to grasp.
My body weakens as each second passes.

I'm ready to die.
Ready to get rid of all the pain for good.
It's easier this way.

Truth is I was afraid to die.
Especially like this.
For it would only hurt those who love me.

The truth is I didn't value myself.
And still to this day, I'm not completely there.
Those suicidal thoughts, they still pierce my mind.
And it's hard not to relapse, I promise you.

It's so hard.

But each day I live in my truth.
Hoping and striving to help others.
To support them, as they try to live their truth as well.

Because I know, I understand. I really understand. Life is hard and it can be unforgiving at times.

But I would never want someone to reach their breaking point as I have so many times before.

So my truth lies before you, for everyone to see. And I pray that it reaches those who need it the most.
So that they can love their truths and fight the urge to want to take it all alway.

You matter so much.
And you shine a brilliant light on this earth.
That if you were follow through with that urge, it will produce a darkness like no other.

The truth is out now, it's no longer a secret.

Truth is suicide is the second leading cause of death for African American youth, ages thirteen to nineteen.

But we don't hear about it enough. Yet it's happening to us! Daily!

And sometimes right under our noses.

Sometimes it's your best friend. Your sister. Your brother. Roommate.

It's me. It's possibly you.

But you're scared to seek help and support.

Because of judgement.

Because of the "ain't nothing wrong with yous!"

You see mental health in the Black community is "non-existent