"I love you too much for you to do that" is all that was said to keep me on this earth. It's what was said to make me reconsider, admittedly, the biggest mistake I could have ever made. To wrap my hair and go to sleep early, instead of overdosing on the pills that sat on my desk or placing a pillow over my face as I had envisioned doing – imagining the suffocation. Not crazy, but human.
It was money. It was school. It was loneliness. It was being on a campus with over 25,000 students, having received a 3.6 GPA the semester prior and still feeling like I had no one; like I had nothing. Like happiness and joy was nonexistent no matter how often I forced smiles and how many jokes I told myself.
I parked outside my soror's apartment and cried my eyes out. The rain captured my mood perfectly. I was there to meet her for craft night, but was sidetracked with thoughts of suicide, the visions of how it would happen, and the water works that accompanied my commitment to doing so. It was the second time I entertained the thought. Nothing I had to convince myself to do, but everything I felt was necessary.
I was closer this time than I had been with the first. It was the only answer to my struggles and the only joy to my pain. This was before I learned how to deal with pain. I texted my brother and told him how I felt. I told him how hard life was and how bad I wanted to end it. How much I wanted to wipe my slate clean. I said it in very few words. I said it with conviction. I said it with full intent on doing so. "I'm going to kill myself," I typed nonchalantly.
Suicidal thoughts aren't about being dramatic. They're not about seeking attention. They're about the firm belief that that is the only solution to an everlasting issue; an unavoidable feat; a frightening reality. That in this space, at this time, erasing your existence is the only choice.
"I love you too much for you to do that," he replied, almost as nonchalantly as I had typed my first text. No panic. No overbearing phone calls that pushed me further over the edge. And no "I'm gonna tell mom," messages. It was just enough emotion, from an emotionless brother, to make my heart soft. To make me rethink the message I was just so sure of. It was enough to make me feel that I wasn't alone. That I did have something, even if it was just those words and a brother's love.
I remained parked outside, now crying harder. Half because of his admission of love & appreciation for the little sister who always got on his nerves, and half because of the fact that he probably loved me more than I loved myself. He most likely believed in me and my promise more than I ever had, or ever desired to.
The truth is that I'm not alone in this. In fact, studies show that women attempt suicide more often than males. WE'RE NOT CRAZY, BUT HUMAN. So perhaps, you're longing for something similar. An answered prayer, a better journey, a more promising path, an unwavering joy, a progressive financial situation, a sign of a rainbow after this brutal storm, or a simple "I love you too much". Perhaps you want to feel the tight clench of a hug with fingertips gripping your back. You want to feel loved. You want to know you can use your power to become better. You want to know you will overcome the circumstance you're struggling to live through. Or perhaps, you simply want to know you're enough to handle this rocky life. That you can make it through, and make it out, okay.
You can. You will. You are. I love you too much for you to do that. And this is not the only solution. It is not the only choice.
"I love you too much" plays over in my head every time life gets too real; every time the enemy tries to take me out; every time my poor past with emotional health attempts to creep back into my life and take over. "He loves me too much," I say regarding both my brother and my God. They both saved my life that day. "I love me too much now, too."
There was a tap on my window, as I re-read my brother's message. My soror's voice rang through my slightly cracked window. "You okay?," she asked as I rushed to wipe my tears and unbuckle my seat belt. "I'm fine," I answered. A response us women know all too well.
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This post is in honor of Certified 10's CERTIFIED WORDS, #NOTCRAZYBUTHUMAN campaign. The goal: to fight the stigma surrounding mental health illness and the usage of the word "crazy" to label those who are battling a mental health illness, or are simply experiencing a rough patch in life. Our struggles do not mean we are "crazy", it means we are human.
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