TRIGGER WARNING: The content of this piece contains descriptions of suicidal thoughts. To mark National Suicide Prevention Week (September 5th-11th) and World Suicide Prevention Day on September 10th, I’ve written about suicidal thoughts in girlhood. While distressing, suicide is an under-discussed, highly stigmatized topic. We can only help others if we’re willing to see their struggles.
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Not those three words. Three words with the power to destroy. Not heal. Not raise up. Three words with the power to destroy a little girl. Forever.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”
Bullshit.
Wounds heal over. They may leave scars, may even have lasting pain. But damage to the psyche is far worse. Destroying sense of self runs far deeper. Is permanent. Especially in a child.
“You’re a burden.”
What do you do with that? When a loved one, a (supposed) protector, rejects you so completely? How do you move past it? Let alone forward? When there’s no trust, no safety, where do you go?
“You’re a burden.”
There’s nowhere you can go. You’re a child. This is your life now. Instead of a carefree childhood, you’re racked with shame. Loathing. Doubt. You’re a weight, dragging everyone around you down. Drowning yourself, as you doom those shackled to you.
“You’re a burden.”
There is a way to set them free. Set yourself free. Surely everyone will be happier. Their burden will go away, won’t it?
Or will it be another burden? A different burden? Better? Worse? How do you know? How can you know? The act of observing something changes it. You can’t be both alive and dead. Can you? Opening the box changes the state. Changes the observation.
