Sometimes It Hurts to Live

Sometimes it hurts to live.

Three days after Thanksgiving, I was standing on the freeway. I was trying to find the courage to run in front of a big rig.

That is where the police officer found me.

I spent the next three days in a mental hospital and have spent three years searching for something.

I find it occasionally, laughing with a friend, watching a sunrise, moments of clarity, moments of love.
But they always leave me.

I feel broken inside. I hear so many loving words, and for a second, I believe them before I remember who I am.
I love you
You’re beautiful
You’re enough
Maybe it’s true. Perhaps it’s a lie.
That doesn’t matter.

You’re not alone. I’m not alone; none of us are alone. I love you, no matter the circumstances. I love you. You have one person behind you.

Depression and suicide are so painful. They make the world grey. Sometimes the world gets so grey, leaving it seems like the answer.

It’s not.

There is something you can do to make the world a better place. There is something for everyone. You have meaning, and you have value.

Smile at a stranger, laugh with a friend, hug someone. Connect for god’s sake, connect! Write, paint, sing, draw, dance, anything that lights you up.


Live for the tinny second you’re alive.

Live before its to late to live.

Live because there is nothing more meaningful than to live.

Remember, you will die. How would you like to spend your time until that day?

I can’t say it will all be okay, or that things will get better. All I can say is that I love you.

I hope its enough.


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