“Sometimes, I wish I woulda drowned right there in that bathtub, where my real mom abandoned me. The only reason I haven’t killed myself already is ‘cause I’m afraid.”
It was the first time I heard someone express a desire to commit suicide and I actually believed them. This was no flippant threat, more than melodramatic selfishness he was stoned faced serious, and fearful, not afraid of dying, afraid it might not work, like the last time he tried, when he was a boy, youthful, and full of life. He found his uncle’s long-neck shotgun, but the distance from the trigger to the mouth of the barrel was greater than the fourteen years of arm stretched from his temple to his fingertips. So he stood the gun up for a last dance, held her tight against his chest and pulled the trigger with his toe, but blew a hole through the roof instead of his head.
“When that happened, I got scared. I coulda shot half my face off, that would suck to live with half a face, you know.”
I didn’t know, I didn’t know what to do, or say, but I figured the worst thing I could do is say too much. So I spoke, slowly, choosing my words…not, wisely, but at least precisely and I even thought about calling a hotline or something, but this was my friend, why would
I put his life in the hands of a stranger, but what makes me think that I can save him, but I gotta try to save him, and suddenly I find myself speaking as quickly as my heart is beating and I don’t even know what I’m saying but it’s something along the lines of "I love you” in the manliest way possible, but if I wanted to kill myself, knowing my homie loved me wouldn’t be enough incentive to stay alive, so I reminded him that God loved him too, hoping the affection of his Almighty Creator might hold more significance than mine, and he’d been through some hard times and I wasn’t trying to minimize his pain but he needed to know that he isn’t the only one so I said
"bro don’t give up, my life sucks too,
and I love it, and I suck too, and I’m awesome."
And fifteen minutes later my mouth is still moving and I’m praying God would strike me mute ‘cause I tried to shut up but my tongue won’t let me and apparently I had a whole lot to say for someone who didn’t know what to say and I don’t even know if I’m trying to save him or myself because if he puts a bullet through his head anytime soon I will feel completely responsible and his blood cannot be on my hands you cannot kill yourself friend! Please.
I’m so glad you’re alive.
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