I see you.

You're so far under water at this point you consider not coming back up. Each time you do you're more exhausted than the last, and it's starting to become a chore just to remember you need air to survive. You question whether or not anyone would notice if you stayed under a little longer each time until finally you forget to come up.

How did the water become so deep? Do you remember? Was it the never feeling like you had a place? Did no one listen even as you begged to be heard? What made you want to drown in your own sorrows rather than be pulled out by someone who desperately wanted to help?

I notice.

Even on the times you stay under a little too long, I notice when it wasn't as quick as the last. When you're letting your anxiety attach anchors to your feet, I see the look of defeat as they drag you down further. The weight of it all is becoming almost insufferable for you, I can see that.

I know.

I know that it feels unfeasible. I know that without anyone to listen, without anyone to see you, or to go unnoticed, you feel as though it's easier to give in. To allow the weight of everything pulling you down, win. You play your life back and wonder who would miss you if you were gone?

The family that doesn't see you?

The friend that never listened?

The guy who didn't notice?

Well, let's say you do give in.

You no longer have to live with the fear that you'll never be good enough for the others around you. You won't have to live another day with the anxiety that makes every task around you seem almost impossible to complete. The burden of worrying about money, your parent's approval, the friend who didn't open her arms to you, or the boy who just didn't want to see you...all goes away.

What you didn't know because you didn't reach for my hand,

That friend that didn't open her arms to you, is going through the exact same thing at home, but can't speak about it without being emotionally and physically abused by her parents.

The rich kid in your class with all that money has it because of a lawsuit that was filed after his sister was hit on her bike one day after school and died. The family never sits down to eat dinner anymore because it's too painful to look at her spot without her there. The dad spends all his time working to numb the pain, and the mom became an alcoholic.

The boy who didn't see you doesn't see you because he's yet to come out that he likes men. He spends everyday deciding whether or not today would be the day to do it, and how much his parent's will resent him because of it. They know they'll disown him, so he's stuck between being who he truly is or continuing to have his family in his life.

You may be drowning. I understand because at one point I felt like I was drowning too, but I never looked around long enough to notice if there was anyone else drowning with me that needed saving.

Do me one favor, don't give in.

Let me save you.

I can't tell you when I pull you up that those anchors will be off your feet. They won't be. I can't tell you when you're finally out of water that breathing will come easily to you because it may not. I can't reassure you that everyone around you will finally notice you aren't giving in to the water filled with your sorrows because they may be too lost in their own.

After awhile, I can tell you this.

Those chains with anchors attached will rust. You'll be able to get them off, but the scars will be left there to prove that whatever you went through at one point caused you repellent pain. The approval you sought for with your parent's may never be clear, but without knowing it, you saved two additional lives when you chose to save your own. The weight of the world will never fully leave your shoulders, but the encumbrance will start to seem less severe.

I will be your ear, I will notice your pain, I will approve of you in whatever form you want to be, and I will open my arms.

In return I ask only one thing, and that's to do the same for someone else.

We will start to save so many drowning people who don't think they can be saved, and maybe they'll begin to do the same.

One day, just like you and I, they'll look back and be so thankful they reached out for our hands.

Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

or if you need my hand,

kymarie17@gmail.com