This is my third post, not including my about me page. This is an original piece of writing that I have and I look forwarding to sharing it with everybody. Let me know what you think in the comment section below.
She stands on the rocks.
There is no wind, there is no rain, there is no air.
She looks to the sky, the sky isn’t there.
What will she find at the bottom of this cliff? Will she find happiness, relief?
Will she find nothing?
Will the bottom be as the top?
She doesn’t see the colour around her. The sea lurches up and down, forward and back, churned by invisible gods holding great oars.
Trying to reach an impossible destination.
She wants to feel, but she cannot.
Cannot feel the spray of the black sea.
Cannot taste the salt that clings to the cold.
Cannot imagine anything but what it would be like to meet the bottom of the cliff.
The sun is shrouded behind apathetic grey clouds. There is no warmth or colour or life here.
But then she looks at herself.
She looks at her hands. The pale, cold hands are red at the fingertips. Her bare feet are stained with green grass and brown dirt.
Her yellow hair blows in front of her face — messed around by the wind she cannot feel. Her hair is like the sun where the sun has forgotten her and how to love.
She finally feels—her lips are parting and she can feel her mouth twist into a grin.
If the world won’t love her, then she must love herself.
She turns her back on the sea, the cliff, the rocks, and the absent sun. She smiles as she walks and resigns herself to her fate — today she will love herself, and then perhaps the world will realise what it is missing out on.
I have been suicidal in the past. I don’t mind saying this, nor do I mind mentioning that I have depression. I believe in the importance of removing the pervasive social stigma attached to mental health, and one of the ways to do this is to let people know about it. From there, hopefully, intelligent and compassionate discourse can originate and maybe something can be done to prevent people from feeling so hopeless and lost and alone that they make such drastic decisions.
When I started writing Resignation I thought it would have a far more sombre ending than it does. Resignation connotes ideas of giving up, leaving, ending. But something far more positive happened as I kept writing.
I don’t like to pontificate about issues regarding mental health—it would be hypocritical and ultimately unhelpful. However, in Resignation, I sought to personally answer the question: how could you possibly love yourself, or anything, in these moments of darkness.
It might seem that “the world” is lifeless and diluted and uncaring, but the fact of the matter is it sees you as a glowing, special, important individual. The world isn’t some disembodied entity—I’m referring to family, friends, lovers, acquaintances, strangers, human beings capable of one of the strongest emotions in existence: love.
So you might not love yourself. You might not love the world. But the world loves you, and it is privileged to have you on board.