Thank you for writing in my prompt about suicide. It hasn’t ended yet, but I’ve read all of you incredibly talented people’s writings so far, and I loved every single one.

Thank you for sharing your experiences. There is strength in words, and I hope you guys are okay.

My messages are always open to those who want a friend.

(p.s. There will not be a winner.)

I love you. I miss you more than words can ever say. I always thought that when you joined the Navy if you came home to me in a body bag it was going to be because we got ourselves in another stupid war, not because you were fighting a war with yourself.

You brighten any room you ever walk into, and I can’t believe we are going to have to live without you. Remember when you ate all the poptarts, and mom was so upset because she just bought them? Or when our other brother punched a hole in the wall because we were so anoying with “Hey-Ya” by Outkast?

I have never seen you so peaceful. So quiet. I had always leaned on you, you were my older brother. I never thought about you needing to lean on me. I hate myself for not knowing. You watched me fail at taking my own life. You learned from my mistakes and were successful. I hate myself.

Not being enough to know you were hurting. Knowing that you left me, 6,0000 miles away, and not being able to help. The Navy not even wanting to say what happened. I miss you. I will watch over the rest of us more carefully. I will listen to the signs. I miss you so much. I hope that you are happy. I hope that your soul is no longer burdened by so much pain. I hope you still think of us. We still think of you. We always will.

It was February 3, 2018, I loved her so. I already had the ring in my pocket and scared out of my mind. I kept telling myself in the tasting room of that vineyard as we tried every wine on the shelf. It helped to calm my nerves. "God, is this your will for my life?" I asked several times, without any answer as I glanced outside, watched the vines swing with the winter wind. "If I can get her outside alone, a perfect time to propose marriage to my beloved Laura."

Just then out of her mouth. "Let us go outside and collect cuttings from the vineyard, we can plant back at my home and grow our own grapes." She was even more beautiful when she talked about things we love together.

All of the fear and doubts that I had about us, vanished. I knew this was a door wide open. For everystep that I took forward, two opened up by themselves.

Laura gracefully, was in the vineyard ahead of me as I fumbled with the ring in my coat pocket. The fear returned with a vengeance. I had never been more scared in my life. "Twenty seconds of courage Will." That was all I could do to pump myself up, in a vineyard in Grapevine, Texas.

Without anymore hesitation, I just got on one knee and said some words that I do not remember saying. Laura's eyes widened as she jumped up and down. "Yes! Yes!" She kept saying as I put the ring on her finger. My mind was in a cloud, but bliss I found.

This line for water.

This line for toilet tissue.

This line for kindness.

I was fourth in line for your kindness today. In a world where lines are forming to meet our daily human needs, it seems humanity has forgotten the most important line to form… kindness.

You see, you did something so small, so minor, I’m afraid you have already forgotten what you’ve done.

As you where wondering down the grocer isle, you came upon a woman distraught from not being able to meet her families basic need for toilet tissue. In your compassion, you handed over yours stating, “You seem to need this more than me.” But you see, I didn’t witness your kindness, I was fourth in line.

Another human (the second in line) witnessed your act of kindness and was so touched that she shared it with her banker (the third in line) when she sat. That banker, so touched by your kindness shared with me, (now fourth in line.)

I have been touched by your kindness, in this time where I truly felt our humanity was waning, and hard to find. I promise you kind stranger, your kindness is not forgotten. Though we may never meet, Thank You. You restored my faith in my fellow humans and I now know there is still a line for kindness.

When I was young,

I sung a song

with a word

I heard

but didn't understand.

Hallelujah.

And my father

heard me sing

a song

his father sung

that he passed on

to me.

Hallelujah.

And when I grew

into myself,

I finally knew

the meaning of

all the little,

all the different,

Hallelujahs.

I was 10 years old staring out the window of my bedroom with a blanket wrapped around my scraggly shoulders. The moon hid beneath a veil of clouds and I was entrapped by the light. Clouds curled around the moon, caressed her with a reverence I only understood when I was older. I swore I could hear them whispering. I hummed under my breath and tilted my head.

"Mom! Mom!" I yelled, "Irene's in the moon with Grandma!" I could hear my mother run up the stairs and taste her confusion. I looked at her when she came up the stairs with wide eyes. Shame drew a frown on my face, a faint feeling of "I shouldn't have said that" coursed through my little body. My mother later told me I looked like a little angel who told a secret she shouldn't have.

My mother drew me away from the window but the moon caught my eyes. It shined brighter before being covered by clouds. I was tucked into bed and told to sleep. The only light was my glow in the dark stars and a faint whisper that twirled my hair. I fell asleep with a smile on my face content in the knowledge Grandma kept watch over me.

The next day we found out that our family friend's mother had passed away a week ago. Her name was Irene. Our family friend had sent us a card informing us and our entire family was devastated. I was confused because she had just been in the moon with my Grandma. I felt the ghost of hands rest on my head when we were told. I leaned into them and drew the comfort of frozen hands. 

     No one--except him but he hasn't seen the scars--knows about the times I held a needle against the kitchen stove, let it simmer on Med. for several minutes, and pressed it against the top of my wrist, opposite the bony curve that defines my arm. No one ever saw the smile on my face, the curve on my lips, the light in my eyes. No one heard the stove top creak as I grew inpatient and turned the heat knob on High.

     No one--not even him and I can't imagine letting him see the scars--knows about the rest of them. They don't remember, as I do with vividness, the half hour I spent in the bathroom dismantling a disposable and fishing out its blades.

     No one read the notes, they remain[ed] oblivious to the signs.

     Sweaters in summer.

     I raised a brow in disbelief and restrained anger.

     Withdrawal, isolation.

     A long-sleeved closet speaks volumes.

     Lack of interest in hobbies.

     I don't think anyone realized it was on purpose. Even I didn't believe it was an over-dose. Only afterward, years afterward, did he describe the high mortality rates. I replied with disbelief, refraining from saying "Well, I didn't die."

Psychological contradiction,

Emotional oxymoron,

Ode to and disgrace of,

The capacity for intimacy.

Secrets spill into strangers,

Merely drip into friends.  

Codependent. 

That's how I lived. 

Doing whatever it took, 

to be whatever they wanted.

Giving to others,

more than I could give.

Thriving in chaos,

but dying slowly for peace.

Addicted to being wanted, 

to being needed,

by anyone or anything.

Yet, I never realized,

the only thing

I ever truly needed

was to want myself. 

- A. Elizabeth