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Description
Everyone knew I was suicidal.   Thoughts and contemplations of death had consumed my mind for months leading up to that day.  My friends were desperate to find something to show me that would make me want to stay with them, but the deadline was approaching.

I had given my two best friends one week to find me a reason to live.  I had not been able to find it on my own and needed help in the worst way.

“Us.”  That is the one they both insisted on.  They had other friends, didn’t they?  It was my belief that with their busy lives it would not take them long to forget about me.  Yes, I was selfish.  I wanted something for me to live for, not for them to have.

My parents fostered the belief that I had no reason to feel as if my life were worthless.  I wanted so badly to prove them wrong.  With a bloody knife I wanted to show them that they could not tell me how I should feel, because their opinion of my emotions didn’t matter anymore.   I wanted to show the world that they couldn’t do anything else to me because I had done it to myself.

I had been taking my pain and anger out with a blade for some time and I was ready by the end of that week to put one final end to it all.  I longed for it.  No one would push me.  No one would torment me.  No one would control me.  No one would touch me.  No.  Not without my say so.  I would write my own story.  I would carve it on my wrists and let it flow for eternity; for everyone to see.

Walking home on what I whole-heartedly expected to be the last day of my life I felt a strange emotional cocktail swirling around in my gut.  I felt relief that my suffering would soon be put to an end.  I felt triumph that I had defeated everyone who had ever hurt me by telling them, “No.”  I felt sadness for the people who might miss me.  I felt regret that I would never again know what joy felt like.

All of a sudden I was afraid.  I now felt the fear of what death would feel like.  I dreaded what I had longed for for so long.  But I felt as though I could not turn back now.  It was too late.  My fate had been sealed.

The unsorted files in my head started shuffling through all the things my friends had said that week.  Things seemed to sort out somehow.  I felt trapped, like no matter what I was going to kill myself weather I wanted to or not.  But there was still time.  I just needed a reason to live.  The week wasn’t over yet, nor was the walk home.

For some reason I still cannot figure out- perhaps God’s hand lifting my head up? - I looked up from the ground for the first time in two blocks of walking.  A few paces in front of me walking towards me were two elderly men in tan coats and green ball caps.  The taller of the two smiled warmly and said to me, “Hello there, young lady.  How are you?”

To my own surprise I smiled and said, “I’m good.”

I smiled on the last day of my life.  It wasn’t a fake smile like the ones I had been feeding to my family.  It wasn’t a generic smile like the ones that come with watching a comedy show.  It was a genuine smile, a symbol of happiness.

I had almost forgotten what one of those felt like.  I had almost lost my chance to know what joy felt like again.  That was what joy felt like; to smile spontaneously at an old man who could do what not even a best friend could.  That old man helped me find my reason to live.

After that I wanted more smiles.  I wanted more joy.  I never saw those old men again, but I will never forget them.  Yes, I’m good.  I may not have healed from every scar of the past, but I’m good.   That’s why whenever I see someone with their head down, I smile warmly and say, “Hello.”  You should too.  You could literally save someone.

One smile from one old man helped me want to find the joy in life again.  One man.  On smile.  That’s why I didn’t die.

Description
Everyone knew I was suicidal.   Thoughts and contemplations of death had consumed my mind for months leading up to that day.  My friends were desperate to find something to show me that would make me want to stay with them, but the deadline was approaching.

I had given my two best friends one week to find me a reason to live.  I had not been able to find it on my own and needed help in the worst way.

“Us.”  That is the one they both insisted on.  They had other friends, didn’t they?  It was my belief that with their busy lives it would not take them long to forget about me.  Yes, I was selfish.  I wanted something for me to live for, not for them to have.

My parents fostered the belief that I had no reason to feel as if my life were worthless.  I wanted so badly to prove them wrong.  With a bloody knife I wanted to show them that they could not tell me how I should feel, because their opinion of my emotions didn’t matter anymore.   I wanted to show the world that they couldn’t do anything else to me because I had done it to myself.

I had been taking my pain and anger out with a blade for some time and I was ready by the end of that week to put one final end to it all.  I longed for it.  No one would push me.  No one would torment me.  No one would control me.  No one would touch me.  No.  Not without my say so.  I would write my own story.  I would carve it on my wrists and let it flow for eternity; for everyone to see.

Walking home on what I whole-heartedly expected to be the last day of my life I felt a strange emotional cocktail swirling around in my gut.  I felt relief that my suffering would soon be put to an end.  I felt triumph that I had defeated everyone who had ever hurt me by telling them, “No.”  I felt sadness for the people who might miss me.  I felt regret that I would never again know what joy felt like.

All of a sudden I was afraid.  I now felt the fear of what death would feel like.  I dreaded what I had longed for for so long.  But I felt as though I could not turn back now.  It was too late.  My fate had been sealed.

The unsorted files in my head started shuffling through all the things my friends had said that week.  Things seemed to sort out somehow.  I felt trapped, like no matter what I was going to kill myself weather I wanted to or not.  But there was still time.  I just needed a reason to live.  The week wasn’t over yet, nor was the walk home.

For some reason I still cannot figure out- perhaps God’s hand lifting my head up? - I looked up from the ground for the first time in two blocks of walking.  A few paces in front of me walking towards me were two elderly men in tan coats and green ball caps.  The taller of the two smiled warmly and said to me, “Hello there, young lady.  How are you?”

To my own surprise I smiled and said, “I’m good.”

I smiled on the last day of my life.  It wasn’t a fake smile like the ones I had been feeding to my family.  It wasn’t a generic smile like the ones that come with watching a comedy show.  It was a genuine smile, a symbol of happiness.

I had almost forgotten what one of those felt like.  I had almost lost my chance to know what joy felt like again.  That was what joy felt like; to smile spontaneously at an old man who could do what not even a best friend could.  That old man helped me find my reason to live.

After that I wanted more smiles.  I wanted more joy.  I never saw those old men again, but I will never forget them.  Yes, I’m good.  I may not have healed from every scar of the past, but I’m good.   That’s why whenever I see someone with their head down, I smile warmly and say, “Hello.”  You should too.  You could literally save someone.

One smile from one old man helped me want to find the joy in life again.  One man.  On smile.  That’s why I didn’t die.