Dear Blake

[This story contains descriptions of depression and suicidal thoughts]

Dear Blake,

I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do it. I’ve been with you here before, in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet, holding mom’s bottle of Ambian, and shaking, hesitating…just…just waiting to commit.

You’re sad. I know it. Downright despaired! Nobody cares about you enough to notice anything’s wrong. They’re too busy with their own lives to give yours any credence. Honestly, they probably wouldn’t notice you were gone until you started to stink up the place. That’s why you’re in the bathroom. They have to go in there. They have to notice it’s locked. Eventually, they’ll get fed up with knocking and just bust it down, and right when they’re ready to deliver the lecture, BAM! There you are. Then they’ll know.

No, that’s not it…You’re angry, filled from toes to nose to crown with boiling rage. How dare they treat you the way they do! You aren’t trying to be the center of the world, you don’t even care for attention all that much, but you’d at least like the option. Why don’t they drop in and ask if you want to do something or go somewhere. Sure, you usually say no, but what teenager doesn’t? It would be nice if they at least bothered to try. That’s what they’re supposed to do – try! But, no. The only time they talk to you is when you get a bad grade or they need to “correct” some stupid faux pas you made so they don’t look like complete idiots. No…that doesn’t seem right, either. You don’t know how you’re feeling, do you, Blake? That’s the problem. If you did, you might be able to follow through and take the pills. It’s not weakness, it’s confusion. If you’re going to commit to something so momentous, you may as well know why.

I know why, Blake. I know exactly why, and I want to help you. You’re depressed, you just don’t know it, and you wouldn’t want to admit it if you did. That’s okay. Tell me if this sounds familiar: you’re hungry, angry, lonely, tired, and scared, all at the same time. And with it all, you don’t have the energy, much less the desire, to go anywhere, to break out of your bubble and interact in any meaningful way. You don’t feel like you’re worthy of it. How could you be? I’m in your head, Blake. You see your peers living it up and just owning who they are. Look at Brianna. She’s not the valedictorian, but she’s smart enough to be. She just knows there’s no reason. She dances, does community service, has a job, and tons of friends. With a resume like that, and the test scores she humble brags about, what school wouldn’t want her? And now look at you, a sniveling baby, sitting on a toilet, trying not to cry too loud while you shake and hold onto Mommy’s sleeping pills.

But all right, it’s okay. Intelligence isn’t everything. You don’t need to be as driven as Brianna. You’d take being Jad. He’s so effortlessly good at the drums, and he’s just so confident in himself. The girls swoon over him, right? It’s a little weird, because, honestly, you don’t think that he’s all that good-looking. At the very least, he can’t be that much more attractive than you, can he? Yet, somehow, he always seems to be flanked by a bunch of thirsty girls while you awkwardly try to talk through messaging apps. They probably laugh at that, the girls. They laugh at your meek attempts to get their attention. You’d feel bad if they talked about you like that, but the sad truth is, not only do they not talk about you, they probably don’t even know who you are. It’s like all the shows and movies about the geeky loner who has greatness thrust upon him and all his fortunes turn around, except you are just utterly unremarkable as you sit on the toilet, trying not to cry too loud while you shake and hold onto Mommy’s sleeping pills.

I know how you feel, Blake. I’ve thought these thoughts. I’ve been in the same cloud you have many times. That confusion, that hopelessness is overwhelming. Listen to me: there’s nothing wrong with you. These feelings, they’re not what you should be feeling, not what you deserve to feel, but they are normal, and they will pass. Take a deep breath, count to five, put the lid back on, put the bottle in the cabinet, and get out of that bathroom.

I know it’s hard to believe, but high school will end, and with it all the drama and angst that goes with being a teenager. College will come and go even faster, and before long you’ll be out of the competition and into your own. Believe me, I know every adult you’ve ever met has told you the same thing. I know it’s hard for you to think that far ahead. I mean, if you want to get mathematical about it, I’ve lived through five years about seven times and you’ve lived through five years only three times. It’s a weird comparison, but think about what that means. Compared to me and other adults, time has to feel so long for you. Ten minutes for you is like five minutes for me…maybe that’s not true, but I think the spirit of it is close enough. The point is, no matter how bad you feel now, those feelings will go away with time. They’ll come back, but they aren’t the norm, and they aren’t your Fate.

Somebody told me something once, I can’t remember who. Maybe I just heard it somewhere. Doesn’t matter. I’d like to share it with you, because I believe it.

We are the sum of our choices.

This, taking these pills, is a big choice, Blake. It’s more consequential than any other decision you’ve ever made. More importantly, Blake, once you make it, that’s it – you can’t undo it. We may make mistakes, and some of those mistakes will be really, really bad, but until we draw our last breaths, we have the chance to shift the balance of our decisions toward something we can take pride in. We can’t erase the mistakes, but we can do our best to own up to them, to seek redemption, and to help ourselves avoid making them again. Not with this, though. Worse, no matter what other good we’ve done in our lives, regardless of how we’re remembered, there’ll always be that horrible asterisk that outshines everything else. When people think our names, they’ll automatically think of the word – suicide. I won’t patronize and ask you if that’s really what you want, I know it’s not. It has to be said, though. It has to be said, Blake.

But I know how this story ends, and I’m proud of you for it. More than that, I’m grateful. Choose differently now, and not only do you remove yourself, but you erase me, this letter, and everything else I love. It’s because of you that I’m here now, Blake. And, without going too deep into it, let me just say that all these things I’ve told you here, you’ll come to appreciate. You’re going to be okay, buddy. You’re going to be okay. It starts with making the right choice now, the healthy choice.

Do yourself a favor, Blake. Put the cap back on, put the pills in the cabinet, get out of that bathroom, and go talk to someone. Talk to Mom. Talk to Dad. Talk to Jim. You don’t have to tell them, just talk to them. Remind yourself that there are people who love you. Remind yourself that the mean, evil thoughts in your head are your own insecurities trying to rile you up. Remind yourself that the stupid things people say to you in class or in the hallway are just dumb teenage drama, kids trying to get attention by being as wild, rebellious, and ridiculous as they can be. It’ll pass. You’ll learn to recognize those thoughts for what they are, to use them as motivation to be better. You’ll see those same bullies become kind and compassionate because they have children, and they recognize that there are people out there who act like they acted and they don’t want to see their child be treated the way they treated you. All the while, the people you love will still be there, same as ever, because they need you like you need them.

Most importantly, nothing is forever, Blake, the bad or the good. Make the most with what you have. Ride out the bad because you know it will end. Appreciate the good because you never know how long it will last. Most of all, love yourself Blake. Put the cap on, put the pills away, and get out of that bathroom. Don’t lose sight of your hope for the future for traumas in your past. It’s easier said than done, I know, but, trust me, it’s worth the effort.

I love you, Blake, and I’m grateful for you and all you do. Take care, buddy.

Love,

Blake