📌 Note to Readers (beginning):

This post contains raw, vulnerable content about suicidal thoughts, self-harm, and deep emotional pain. It’s not meant to shock—it’s meant to tell the truth. If you are struggling, please know you are not alone. This is my way of surviving. If you choose to keep reading, thank you for holding this with care. If you’re someone who loves me, thank you for still being here.

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📝 The Poem:

A Prayer I Shouldn’t Have to Say
(for the girl who keeps waking up anyway)

Sometimes,
I wish I could die.
And I’m so fucking scared
because the wish keeps growing—
quietly, like mold in a room I forgot to check.
It doesn’t scream.
It waits.

I used to keep an ESPN article bookmarked—
about a runner at Penn State
who jumped off a parking garage.
I reread it like scripture.
Not because I wanted to be her,
but because I already was.
Just slower to the edge.

In college,
I started researching methods.
Not for shock value.
For comfort.
Like maybe if I knew enough
it would be easier
when the time came.
Like maybe knowing gave me power
over something.

While teaching,
I locked myself in my bathroom at home
more times than I’ll admit.
Laid on the cold tile of classrooms
after everyone left,
wishing I wouldn’t get up.

Still now,
I find rooms with doors I can close—
not to shut people out,
but to lie down and hope
I’ll just
stop.

Because facing it
feels like drowning in daylight.
Because trying
feels like dragging my bones
through broken glass
just to smile at a meeting.

And I still pray—
To God,
To Goddess,
To whatever might cradle the wreck of me—

Please,
take me instead.
Let my death do something useful.
Spare someone better.

I know it would destroy my parents.
They’ve already lost a child.
They’d give anything to keep me.
And that’s the catch—
I want to leave,
but I don’t want to hurt them.
So I stay.
Like a ghost with obligations.

If you’re listening,
God, Goddess, anyone—
make this life holy again.
Make breath feel like more than survival.
Make staying feel
like something other than surrender.

Please,
make it matter
that I stayed.

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And maybe—
maybe there’s something waiting
just past the next morning.
A hand I haven’t held yet.
A moment that doesn’t ache.
A softness I’ll recognize
as my own.

Maybe
the staying
isn’t the end
of the story.

Maybe it’s the start
of the healing.

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📌 Note to Readers (end):

If this resonated with you because you’ve felt these same things—please, please stay. The world is heavy, but it’s not hopeless. You are not alone, and you are not beyond saving. I’m still here. You can be too.

If you or someone you love is struggling, please reach out:

• Call or text 988 (U.S. Suicide & Crisis Lifeline)
• Text HOME to 741741 (Crisis Text Line, U.S.)
• Or find support near you at befrienders.org