*:･ﾟ✧

“I’m a therapist and keep this poster in my waiting room, apparently it’s saved a few lives.”

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 any 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.

“Why are you so lazy?”

But you’re not lazy. Lazy is when you shrug things off because you can’t summon up the give-a-damn. When you’re curled up tight on your chair, at your desk, alone and grey and desperately wishing that you had your life in order, that you did all those things that you had to do, that it didn’t feel like breaking rocks just to feed and clothe yourself and get some sleep, that’s not lazy.

People don’t understand. You tell them “It’s Hard.” They tell you, “No it isn’t. You’re just lazy.”

You start to wonder if they’re right. Is breaking those rocks easy for everyone else? Are they that much stronger than you? They don’t look like they’re struggling. “Just try harder,” they say. But you’re trying. It’s not working. Breaking boulders in your path until you’re spent isn’t lazy, and you do it day after day.

You’re not lazy. Most people don’t have those rocks to break.They don’t even know what it’s like to have to break rocks to get things done. They don’t understand how hard you have to work, and how hopeless you feel, when you try and fail to do what they do easily. Things hard harder for you, they really are. And if those people had to deal with your problems they wouldn’t be doing any better.

You’re not lazy. You’re not weak. You’re fighting hard. I guess I just want you to know that I know that.”

Yo sin ti soy un ángel en el infierno. Y contigo un demonio en el cielo.

photos by eloise party, styling by haley wollen

Sweet thing, I watch you Burn so fast it scares me My game, please don’t leave me Come so.