Far From Perfect



Suicide is real. It's real, and it's everywhere. It is something that will rip you to shreds, then piece you back together again. Your dignity is equivalent to a shattered vase from the top shelf of mom's old china hutch. You can spend the rest of your life on your hands and knees trying to find every last piece of your broken vase. But nothing will come of it, besides a few cuts and plenty of frustration.

Hurry and sweep the glass beneath the rug, before someone sees it or cuts their foot..

Suicide is scary. Especially when you don't do it right. Nothing is scarier than lying in bed alone, hugging your pillow close, crying for someone, anyone, to come and save you. You look at the pill bottle that rests eerily at the foot of your bed. You think of all the moments you've felt remotely loved or cared for. Your chest burns, whether it be the feelings you've kept bottled up inside of you for so long, or a side effect of the pills you previously swallowed. Your mouth is dry. Your body aches, in a new kind of way. Your eyes begin to shut, but you hear someone calling your name...


Hurry and open your eyes. You hear the sound. Follow the sound. Just open your eyes..


Suicide is depressing. Lying in the ICU with no one around gives you time to reflect. Why did you do this to yourself? What good will it bring? What does the future hold? I wonder who missed me.. And as you glance up at your heartbeat, hearing the constant whurr of the machine connected to the IV in your arm, the machine that is keeping you conscious, you begin to cry. You begin to blame yourself, and you begin to feel like you are trapped. You hear your heart rate increase, and you begin to throw up the last of the medication you ingested. God, you hate the feeling of the stomach pump forcing the pills out of your system.


Hurry and pretend you're asleep, the doctors may try to question you..


Suicide is eye-opening. Are these flowers for me? You're loved. You may not know this, you may not have felt it directly with each passing day, but you are steadily and unconditionally loved. Whether it be love from your mother, your father, your grandparents or siblings, you are loved. Your friends love you. Love is one of the many void feelings you come to know and relish.


Hurry and express your love to them, before they feel that it's all their fault..

And while you're at it, take a look in the mirror. Smile. No, honey. Smile. Not with your lips. With your eyes. You are a beautiful creation. You are worth every struggle. Every moment of sadness you've ever felt is a raisin in the sun. You are not that day. You are not those pills. You are not the psych ward, and you are not the scars on your wrists. You are a human being. You have feelings. Don't forget that.


Hurry and realize that you still exist for a reason. Share your story, don't be ashamed.


Acceptance. On April 15th, 2010, I felt as worthless and isolated as one could possibly imagine. And after that day, I am proud to say that I still exist for a reason..



True Beauty... Only words to categorize this poem, this is just eye-opening, real, and... beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741