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This is my biggest project.. what Nikki told me to write at her grave. Here it is! Hope you get some feelers. Share if you need; feedback!


Submitted:Jul 5, 2013    Reads: 25    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


Coward's Escape
Suicide isn't a coward's escape. It never is, never has been, nor ever will be. It's a natural cause of death, no matter what people say. Their minds are not sick. They are not afraid of another golden sunrise. They aren't selfish, freaks, or depressed. They aren't regretful. They aren't stupid. They aren't alone.
My sister and I both lost our best friends to suicide. Our worlds have never been the same. They turned upside down on their heads and rushed the blood to our brains. Sissy and I went numb. We are not afraid to say it has been hell to be able to feel again. People say to us, ten thousand times, "Get over it. Move on.They're dead. Why does it matter?" We tried. Tried everything. Tried drugs, alcohol, cutting, smoking, shutting down, counseling-- EVERYTHING. But neither of us acted on the thought of suicide. Why?
We know that there are people who are reading this who think suicide is a horrible thing. We'd beg to think differently. We're hear to shut down the bad idea. The thought that if you cut you're full of demons. The thought that you're being dramatic if you're depressed. People who wonder if you burn in hell if you kill yourself . . .
We'd like to give you a newsflash. Take if from people who've been there, who know what they're talking about.
Suicide is not a coward's escape.Not an excuse to run away for awhile. Its a real thing. Its for people who are tired. For people who have a purpose in Heaven. For people who know their death will be a bright, red rose on a pile of dusty thorns. They know their loves will survive.
They're tired of the sour lemons, one after another, that life keeps throwing them. They wanna throw the lemons back in life's face and show them they're not gonna put up with life's bitch shit anymore. They're tired and defiant, not depressed and afraid. And its our jobs as victims to say so in this world of judgemental people. We need to share their story, keep their legacy, AND NEVER FORGET.
I wanna share with you two stories and research I found. For the privacy of the living and respect of the dead, their names have been changed. Please listen with an open heart and hear about Sissy and I's best friends, and the cruel world they
left behind.
First, meet Adriana. She was a beautiful girl, born the 24th of April in 1995. Her home was 50 miles out of Jakarta, Indonesia, right next to the coast. Adriana was strictly Hindu. She loved her cultrue and beliefs-- said it was what made her "Adriana." She was deeply saddened when her father moved her and her little sister to Illinois (USA) in October of 2008. She had no idea she would meet her second half-- me, a girl named Lucy. We were both strangers to a close-knit school, lonely, and in good need of a friendship. I was there for her, she was there for me; we talked and cried and passed notes and were closer than PB&J.
Until a boy moved in and started harrassing her. These comments were targeted at her identity-- her culture and beliefs. As the bullying continued, her self-esteem broke piece by piece. She cried and worried and even the night after Thanksgiving that year tried to kill herself with a knife. Once I heard this, I was outraged. I marched up to the guy and said, "Hey, you need to quit. Her culture is beautiful and if you don't have any respect for that, then screw off." He didn't listen, only laughed in my face and broke my wrist later that week while we were playing kickball. I decided to leave the issue alone. Until it got worse . . .
Adriana and this kid got into a fight at lunch one day, and she came back upset. I was in detention, so I didn't understand what had happened until later in class she wrote to me what happened. I was deeply upset by this and went to Adriana's teacher and advisor and told her what was going on. She said she would talk to Adriana and things would change. That afternoon, I gave Adriana a big hug and held on, because I knew that meant she was never going to talk and this would never be resolved.
There was an issue here I didn't understand until I started thinking about suicide a few months later. When a person is going through things like bullying and culture change, loneliness and depression; the person shuts down. They don't like to talk. I didn't comprehend why my best friend wouldn't reach out for help. It was beyond my "little-miss-perfect" head. I had a bed of roses to lay on-- she had a bed of thorns. I couldn't understand her pain, but I reached out for her. She stayed by my side, but it wasn't enough. I told her God loved her while I was questioning it myself, but neither of us believed it really.
The thing about Adriana was she was strong. She told me that before she moved to Illinois, she was hopeful about America. Even though she would miss her home in Indonesia, change was good. She wanted to experience what America had to offer, she wanted to make new friends (she found two other close friends, but I was the best she had), and she wanted the education this school offered. She smiled and shared and unashamed of her heritage. She helped others and was brave and wasn't afraid to loosen up a little from time to time.
One of my favorite memories is coming back from lunch, heated from the way she was being treated and no one offering to help. The guy she had problems with had a best friend too (go figure) and he had his little minon taunt her like he did. We were in the middle of English, but we had a substitute and everyone knows how crazy a classroom is without their teacher. So Adriana and I untied our hair, 'cause we were both using rubberbands to hold back our ponies, and we shot them at the boy who was picking on her. Then I dug in the recycling bin and we had a war with paper balls.
Yeah, probably not the BEST idea I've had in school, but it was fun. I needed a little to lighten up. If you wouldn't have guessed already, Adriana, I, and two of our other friends got detention after school. Detention wasn't too bad. We sat together, desk by desk, in the choir loft (it was held in the choir room?? lol) and wrote each other notes about how that was the best plan we'd ever had. No teacher, no punishment, no problem! Detention was something innocent kids laughed at once they got there, and a time for bad kids to kiss ass to other teachers when they were there too. After we were dismissed, while Adriana and I were waiting for our ride, we walked around the school, with our shoes off, and talked about Indonesia. I will never forget how much her eyes lit. She was so proud of her heritage . . . I wish I was as patriotic as I think I am compared to her. It was her everything. Her religion was her foundation, her dress and food her oxygen. I loved the way she was in love with Indonesia.
She confessed to me that the reason she acted so prideful of her home was because it was the only thing she had left. She went on a kind-worded rant about how Americans romanticize pirates. She said her village had been attacked so much, a part of it was being burned to the ground, and people were being killed right and left. Adriana said she hated Jack Sparrow and his swashbucklers because the were so unreal and she found them insulting. Her uncle and grandfather had been killed trying to fend off the pirates from their village. That's when her father decided to flee.
Although Adriana was safer here in Illinois physically, she would've been better off emotionally in Indonesia. That's why she was cutting and considering to kill herself. Everywhere she went was danger. She would either be killed by a pirate, or be killed by her own hands. She told me she felt the world was against her, that she was glad I hated the school as much as she did so we could get by together.
But enough is enough at one point in one's life, and she told us on a Friday that she was leaving for Indonesia, but she'd return in eighth grade. I believed her. However, she ruined my hope. She told me that she was going back home to say goodbye to her family and then she was going to commit suicide. She never cried so hard, and I never held someone so tight.
The Tuesday she left was my birthday, and I'll never forget that day. It was the last time I ever saw her. I couldn't talk to her much because my dad was rushing me because he apparently wanted to do something special (is a BK Whopper that important?), but we hugged for the last time, and while crying, she choked in my ear, "Stand strong, and never forget."
I did that mostly. Standing strong was more like falling hard. I spiraled after she left. But forgetting was something I never did. I think about her to this day, every day. There isn't a day that goes by that I won't remember her beautiful name. I cried so hard when I got the email. My life turned upside down, I fell into a depression, and it took pushing me to the edge to get back up. I had some incredible people who just held me close during those times. But I felt alone. I kept questioning. Why? Why should I be the one left one? Why should I have to be the one who cries at every Facebook post about seeing "Like if you love your best friend." Of course I do. But she's dead. Is that really fair? What's the purpose behind this?
Then, my sister experienced the same thing. Her baby girl was going through a rough time too. The same type of thing, but let us never forget each situation is very unique in itself. Her name was Marylynn, fell from heaven as an angel on May 20th, 1998. She lived in Illinois her whole life, had a little brother, and was her parents' dancing princess. This girl could jig to anything, and she was amazing! Tap, hip-hop, classical, tango, macarena; there wasn't a dance she couldn't do. MaryLynn was in dance from the time she was three, and was a part of the Decatur park district singers association. She was very attractive, brown hair and dark eyes. She never wore make up, and her hair was always down. She wore jeans and a teeshirt every day. . She was oh so stunning. "I hope you dance" and "Why" are two songs that could've applied to her, before and after her life.
Her, personality . . . it was almost as beautiful as she was and the way she danced. MaryLynn, she was so nice and so bubbly. She never met a stranger. Marley was so interested in everyone else. She was caught up in a dream. .She sang Glee every morning and always smiled. She was a beautiful pianist as well as vocalist. MaryLynn also loved Jesus, was a minister for children at central Christian church. She loved homework, and accepted any challenge. She loved every subject and had a crush on the schools biggest nerd.
She loved horses.. Loved them.. She was in our mom's Girl's scout troop and she loved to write. . and her favorite color was pink. She didn't like being dirty, but adored the outside. She was in the most advanced swim class at the YMCA. She loved Halloween and sparkles. Carly nicknamed my sister SeeSee. . She was invincible.
Sis never saw her without a book in hand; she was a voracious reader. Nikki liked the Hardy Boys series, and Harry Potter when they were growing up. She always was writing stories and poems and reviews and journal entries. Everyone who read anything of hers was jealous. She was just that good. She kept a journal as we do. Sissy understood that. We write constantly. But some people wouldn't know talent if it smacked them in the face. Carly was the sweetest girl you could ever meet. I love my friends, and most of them are there for me, but she was someone you just had to meet or talk to just to understand the amount of wisdom and compassion she had. If you gave her one chance to speak her mind, you would be blown away at the words of wisdom and analogies and metaphors she connected everything to. She knew and she still knows just what to say. Carly always thought of everyone before herself. She cried when someone was hurt, she was angry when someone was upset. If she touched you and knew you, she would feel everything that you felt, even if you didn't tell her. Her name could've been Lucy. I know that's my name, but she was a wunderkind, just like Lucy Pevensie out of the Chronicles of Narnia. She served, she was compassionate; she was just the description of a person who loved people. She was a people person.
And everyone, I don't care who you are, has something going on behind the scenes. No one knows why she left the stage. As me and Sis say it was because she didn't want to have lemons thrown at her face anymore. She just wanted to chuck 'em herself. The girl was amazing-- and if you think that she hung herself that night because she was afraid to face another day, weak and sick of life, go fuck yourself. We know from experience that its harder than it looks. If you've ever been there, then you can't imagine what pain was possibly goin' through Marley's head. But I can tell you she had a goddamn good reason for it. She will forever be remembered for her personality, and not the way she died. I mean, remembering your sister getting shot and remembering nothing else about them? Bullshit. We love and miss her. Just wait until you're six feet deep.
I remember when my sister was hospitalized in second grade, MaryLynn drew her a card of them together and rainbow behind them. She asked my sister to feel better so she could be as brilliant as the rainbow and shine like the stars, because through her tears and the rain, a rainbow always came.
But rainbows aren't always enough for people like MaryLynn, or even Adriana. Sometimes life is horrible to them, and they have to get back. They want to show that they're stronger than what life is going to offer them. That they weren't created to sit back and question who they are.
MaryLynn saw her last rainbow September 1, 2011. A memorial has been made in her honor, vowing her surivors will never forget. Because that's what people who kill themselves need to know. That someone cares, even when they are at peace in the afterlife. Someone will never forget, that they were worth the sun and moon for, that people who struggle with these thoughts and who struggle with depression or cutting won't end up like they did. They don't have regrets, but they know by seeing their survivors that this person is worth more than people will ever know. Because like the old saying says, "You never know what you got until its gone."
There are more than two reasons why people kill themselves, but instead of people blaming it on depression or the person killing themself being upset, these seem to be the symptoms. If you can see these in Adriana and MaryLynn's stories, then you'll know why. Suicide is not meant to be judged, its meant to be helped.
The first underlying reason a psychologist will detect in both of these stories is the pain being too great and the human mind feeling literally like it can not escape. Adriana knew she was going to be killed here or there, so she decided to do it herself. MaryLynn was so perfect at hiding we never saw it coming . . . until died. Pain is something that without help you can't get away from. It hurts, it brings you to your knees, and the worst part of it is its blinding. Suicide, to a mind in pain, is separation. That's why its hard to detect when someone is feeling this way, like the way MaryLynn and Adriana shut down, because you want to isolate yourself from everyone so your mind can dwell on your secret escape plan of just ending it all. That's why no one talks, everyone's quiet. Suicide is the thief in the night, the drug dealer in the alley. Its secret, its silent, its swift, and its sure as hell deadly.
Fear is another reason. Don't take this as a stone to cast. The fear you're thinking of is the person is not brave enough or strong enough to stand up for what they believe. No, this fear is much worse-- its fear of the unknown. Your mind breaks down in depression, and it becomes afraid that this pain will never get better. This is the fear of facing another storm without an ounce of strength. This is the fear of ending it all no one caring that you're dead. This is the fear of the start of life, not the ending nor the trials.
Have you ever been trapped in a dark room that you're unfamiliar with? There's no lights on, you don't know how to work the doorknobs, and you keep hearing sounds that you'll be killed? Like a murderer breaking in? You grope along the wall for an opening, but you can't find one. You start to panic and think, "Maybe I should just sit and rest and let the killer come get me. I'm never going to get out of here anyway!" Your desperation takes over, your exhaustion is inevitable, and before you know it, you slumber while waiting for the man who will strangle you?
Maybe your mind hasn't been to the extreme of feeling that way before, like someone is going to kill you, but I'm sure we've all been in the dark room and fearful we'll never get out. Until you go through boughts of depression or actually are haunted by the thought of killing yourself, of imagining how quiet it would be if you just went to sleep and woke up on the other side, you will never understand how we feel. But those of you who know what I'm talking about are trying to swallow the lump of emotion in your throat right now. I know you're thinking, "Damn, that's my life right now. How did she know that?" That's because, my friend, I've been there myself. You are not alone. We all have that dark closet in the corner of our minds we can slip into, but some people are just too cowardly to step in and consider the fact they could be gone tomorrow. Right, judge and jury? Don't you feel like you're a psychopath thinking of these dark, evil things?
I just made someone mad, but that's my point. I'm supposed to fire you up. These feelings are the same way we feel about you. We are not freaks, we are not melodramatic, we are not guilty of depression, we are not creepy because we cut, we are not alone. Stop isolating us and judging us because this is something you don't understand.
Depression is not an act. Eating disorders aren't excuses. Suicide isn't a coward's escape. Homosexuality isn't a disease. Self-harming is not a cry for attention. Depression is real. Eating disorders are not controlled. Suicide is a natural death of the human mind. Homosexuality is a way to love, not to judge. Self-harming is a cry for help and a release to a troubled mind. Stop acting like you know everything, because I know damn well you've never felt this way before. These people need to be loved. They need to know someone cares. They need to know they won't be judged because their life is bad and it isn't their fault. You are killing these people by ignoring them, by judging them, and its time to defend those who can't defend themselves.
Suicide is not a coward's escape. Its a real thing, a real death, and it needs to be treated like one.
So are you going to tell someone you care? Or are you going to wait until their funeral and you're at the pulpit? Choose wisely.
You. Are. Not. Alone.
If you have ever felt this way (suicide or judged because of it) know that you are not alone, know that there is help, know that you aren't sick. That's the biggest lie people feed us. If you feel like I feel and you need to share your story, your person's story (whoever that may be), then I encourage you to do it. Find a blog spot, and journal place, write here, or give a big, long Facebook message. Record yourself and put it on YouTube. Use notecards and make up a series of photos on Instagram. Start a Twitter trend and have people send you their stories. If you'd like to share with me, I am on Facebook or my email is business.rachelwilliams@gmail.com or my personal email at skilletgirl2@gmail.com. Stay strong my friends, never forget, never move on, but always smile (:




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