A Stick

A Stick

The usual stigma has been  around for… well, forever. Depression, anxiety, suicidal tendencies and suicide itself – these things are not topics people enjoy lightly discussing. Obviously with Robin William’s recent death it’s suddenly been the rage to fully discuss and bring to light these troubles that people face everyday.

I suffer from depression and anxiety. As do many people! More so, I think, then we realize. I’m using Effexor and Vitamin D to help me curb those issues, and for me it’s been very successful so far. I’m hoping this will continue once the time changes and we’re thrown back into the rainy and dark Oregon we all know and love. At least for its rain, and not so much for its dark!

Anyway, with all of this fresh at the surface, I stumbled upon something today that I was glad I found. I wasn’t looking for it, but once I found it – it was a really refreshing and supportive statement. It’s quite possibly one of the best supporting statements I’ve read online recently, something that lifts up, and doesn’t tear down. One that I think I, and maybe others, were looking for without knowing we needed it.

I was in the Amazon Kindle forums (for ideas on how to derail 2-year-olds that have discovered every PBS show on mommy’s Kindle is free when you have 1-Click purchases and mommy’s credit card!) and found this. After some digging, I also found it here and here. From what I can tell, the original creator/poster is a Tumblr user named, Boggle.

Without further adieu:

I don’t like the phrase “A cry for help.” I just don’t like how it sounds. When somebody says to me, “I’m thinking about suicide, I have a plan; I just need a reason not to do it,” the last thing I see is helplessness.

I think: Your depression has been beating you up for years. It’s called you ugly, and stupid, and pathetic, and a failure, for so long that you’ve forgotten that it’s wrong. You don’t see good in yourself, and you don’t have any hope.

But still, here you are; you’ve come over to me, banged on my door, and said, “HEY! Staying alive is REALLY HARD right now! Just give me something to fight with! I don’t care if it’s a stick! Give me a stick and I can stay alive!”

How is that helpless? I think that’s incredible. You’re like a marine: Trapped for years behind enemy lines, your gun has been taken away, you’re out of ammo, you’re malnourished, and you’ve probably caught some kind of jungle virus that’s making you hallucinate giant spiders.

And you’re still just going “Give me a stick! I’m not dying out here!”

“A cry for help” Makes it sound like I’m supposed to take pity on you. But you don’t need my pity. This isn’t pathetic. This is the will to survive. This is how humans lived long enough to become the dominant species.

With NO hope, running on NOTHING, you’re ready to cut through a hundred miles of hostile jungle with nothing but a stick, if that’s what it takes to get to safety.

All I’m doing is handing out sticks.

You’re the one staying alive.

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