Unpredictable

It's 1:58 AM.

And I can tell you with absolute honesty at 7:00 PM I wanted to die.

Around 8:00 PM I had locked myself in the bathroom and everyone had stopped trying. There were no knocks. I sat with my back against the door and my head in my hands. When I looked up I saw a razor sitting on the edge of the bathtub looking like a right answer.

At 8:40 I sat in a towel on the phone with a father who lives across the country. He told me "I'm not mad about the car, don't cry." Little did he know I was crying because I felt like dying and all he saw was a car that needed repaired not his little girl with an empty stare.

At 8:45 I put the razor under the counter and instead took a shower. I still wanted to die, but I didn't want it to be so messy.

At 8:50 I got out the shower got dressed looked in the mirror, and told myself "it's for the best." But at 9:30 I was still here.

I sat in my room solving math problems when I couldn't even solve my own. 

At 10:00 I stumbled into the kitchen and opened the cabinet. Inside were Advil to alievate the headache caused by crying. 

At 10:03 I saw the medication bottle with my name on it, and several blue pills promising blue skies. They applauded when I shook them. Jingled like I won the lottery. 

At 10:10 no one had come into the kitchen and the pills still sat in my hand. 

But at 10:11 I put them down and walked back to my room instead.

At 10:45 I laid in bed with Shane Koyzcan in the background speaking about a letter to himself. I was wondering about my letter to whoever got there first.

At 11:00 my brother came in without knocking. He put his head by mine and told me I'd be fine. He asked what kind of tea I liked? When silence met his question he just let me be.

At 11:05 I wondered if he'd be okay if I died. I knew the sun would still rise, and the moon would still shine. But what about this tender boy who believed I was going to be fine?

Until 12:00 I held myself tight. I stared at the ceiling. I looked up the suicide hotline. I closed my eyes and pretended it was death.

At 12:00 my mom came into my room and laid next to me. She stroked my hair and slid my phone under my pillow. We sat in silence.

At 1:00 we talked.

At 1:15 I didn't want to die anymore.

At 1:45 we sat on the kitchen floor eating French fries just talking in a way I craved for so long. I remember thinking I'm so glad that I didn't choose to die.

She told me that writers can easily write about the tragedies of life, but that she believed the best writers can tell the sad things of life but still give hope. She told me I was that writer.

At 1:56 I checked my phone and saw that tonight someone had the same thoughts as me. But they didn't put the razor under the counter, or the pills back on the shelf. I'm not brave or selfless. I flirted with death like thousands of others. 

And I'm writing this now because I wish they could see this. I wish they could take it back. I almost kissed death on its cold unforgiving lips and let it take me back to it's place, but I didn't. I'm alive and my heart hurts and my eyes are tired but I'm grateful for the pain. 

At 7:00 PM I wanted to extinguish my life like it was nothing more than a flickering flame. At 1:15, six hours later, I wanted to live. Your life isn't something you can gamble on, flip between decisions like cards, and lay down a bad hand. 

God I hope this reaches someone. The desperate and the depressed. The lonely and the lion hearted. The hopeless and the heartbroken. Life is unpredictable but it's yours, wait. If I hadn't right now I would be dead and these thoughts would have never been born. I wouldn't know what French fries taste like at 1:45 in the morning, or what laughter feels like hours after I almost stopped my laughter for forever.

It's now 2:43. And I see how time flies and changes. Don't end your life before you see the gifts time has to offer you.

Terik rest in peace, I wish you could see these words of love and devotion sent your way...but you didn't wait and you didn't stay.

It's 2:45 AM and my heart is still beating and I'm still breathing and I beg that you, dear reader, do too.