it's not the how. it's the why it's done.

is it weird if i say that i can understand why some people chose suicide as a way out of their problems?
.
it's all over the news every couple of days...
teenagers taking their own lives...
adults jumping off buildings..
women hurting so much that the finally chose to end the pain once and for all...
men giving in to pressure because they can't take the tension no longer...
.
it doesn't matter how silly they put it on the newspaper,
the process of how they killed themselves..
what matters is how long has it been since they last felt normal.
and how long have they felt the pain.
how long did they live with this ringing thought of suicide going on and on in their minds.
how many days they've lived with everyone around them being oblivious to what they were really feeling inside.
we can never know all that from what we read in those articles.
.
when one person dies, we usually assume that the reason they died is due to the most recent events that have happened to the deceased.
bad results...bad relationship...bad family environment..bad influences..
i feel that those are not the reasons why they did it, at least, not the real reason why they did it.
the sad thing is we'll never know why do people kill themselves, since they're already dead.
the dead, can't speak.
i think, what the reporters give us in the news articles are only the "spark plugs" to their suicides.
when we have unpleasant experiences in life, we can rant about it, feel beat down about it,
and eventually move on from it.
what's different about each and everyone of us, is the way we weigh the severity of the incident.
.
sometimes, people can't seem to get in tuned with how hurt you really are about something. and vice versa.
you might feel horrible about it, embarrassed, harassed, as if a big "FAILURE" word is branded on your forehead that you can hold your head up ever again,
but your friend might feel that it's really not that big of a deal.
and so, you suck it up, pretend like you're okay because you don't want to seem like a loser,
when you're really not fine at all.
.
you ask yourself, why are you so worthless,
why are you such a disappointment,
why can't you be like everybody else,
because everyone seems to be better than you.
.
over time, you began to imagine what it's like to not feel awful,
and how not to feel horrible about yourself.
change your group of friends,
change your working/schooling environment,
change the way you look,
change the way you behave.
sure, it all made you feel better, for a while, like life could be alright and you can feel happiness again.
but soon, you start to feel like the past is chasing up to you again.
the darkness, the nightmares, the shame.
covering your whole body like a shiny fitting armor you never wanted for yourself.
.
then the thought of hurting yourself begins.
because the only way to not feel that pain in your heart, your mind
is to replace it with some other types of pain. a physical one.
.
cutting your skin worked in the beginning..
the sting you get from the tearing of the epidermis cleared up the fog in your head.
suddenly you feel alive again, everything you see becomes clear once more.
.
but when the wound heals, depression relapsed.
so you cut yourself again...
make another line on your arm.
this time, deeper..
and deeper..
and deeper..
again...
and again...
and again...
till the cut draws blood onto your knife.
and everything felt right again.
then blurred, again.
.
it feels like the grim reaper is constantly floating around you,
whispering destructive words into your ears,
telling you that you're not good enough,
how much of a disappointment you are,
how you would not change anything even if you disappeared from the face of the earth,
explaining to you, in so many ways, how insignificant your life is.
.
at first, you resist yourself from believing the things he said.
you pushed him away with all the strength you can harvest from your weak body.
you keep reminding yourself,"i'm important to me. i live, for me. i want to be alive."
.
one day,
everything went wrong.
you felt like the universe is falling apart.
then your teacher gave you a hard time,
telling you how bad of a student you are, and that you're never going to succeed in life.
or your boss singled you out and tells you how useless of an employee you are,
while comparing yourself to your colleagues.
or your neighbor came banging on your door and tells you that she's had it with your dog's barking,
and how she would have you chased out of the apartment for causing noise pollution.
and that was it.
.
you go to the same corner you always go to,
hide yourself,
took out your trusty penknife,
and start slitting...
deeper...
harder...
yes.
and before you know it,
there was a big puddle of blood on your floor while you watch more blood flowing out from your wrist,
your limbs felt weaker,
your heart rate slows down,
your body felt colder,
your eyelids getting heavier.
.
nobody can ever know their real story,
of why did they take their own life.
nor can anyone picture what life must have been like for a person to choose death as a way to escape life.
but that's how i would imagined it to be,
like how i've always imagined suicides to be, if i was in their shoes.