The Things I’ve Realized After I Lost Someone To Suicide



Words fail.

Writing has always been my outlet. I feel freedom once I write my feelings down. I am free when I turn those emotions into words. It heals me. I can write that is mainly what I like about me. Until that night. That night, no words escaped my mouth. My tongue couldn’t form anything. My mind was blank. No words can describe the shock. No words can give justice to the pain. It was the first time that I knew words wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough. My words were trapped. I was caged.

Words break.

I didn’t want to believe the words that reached me. I didn’t want to accept the fact that they were true. I was in denial. I didn’t want to believe my eyes. No, this is not happening. I’ve never hated a word so much. Depression. The word is too strong; too dangerous to be defined simply. It destroyed him. Suicide. A word that is very powerful and destructive. It devastated me. It shattered everyone who holds him dearly. Those two words wrecked us in the most unimaginable ways. Those two words will forever break us down to our deepest core.

Words reach out.

Maybe we could have talked him out of it. Maybe if we have said the right words, he would have changed his mind. He spent all his life using his words to reach people. He touched our lives with his words. We should have reached him the same way, if not more. You did well. Those three words he longed for to hear. Is it too late to say it to him now? Will it still reach him somehow?

Words keep going.

Even when he’s gone, his words will live on. He will live on, not just in memories but also in songs. He will always be the melody of my keyboard when I type. He will always live on in each word I write. He just stopped breathing but I know he’s still watching urging me to keep going. His soul still resides in mine.

Words bleed and heal.

I lost my words when I lost him. Words broke me when it was supposed to help me keep myself together. That night, I failed to reach out to him. It still hurts. I am still bleeding. I don’t know if I will ever be okay again. But while I’m at it, maybe I can use each droplet of blood to get back the words I forgot I have in me. I wasn’t able to save him but maybe if I try harder, I can save someone. Maybe when I let myself bleed words, I can finally heal. And maybe one day, my words will finally reach him, too.