Before I write this, let me give you a quick introduction of who I am. My full name is Marie Santirece Mays. I’m now 18 years old. I currently live with my sister and my dad. I grew up in what I would call a “broken home”. I’m from Mississippi (born in Southaven, grew up in Byhalia, and graduated from Holly Springs High School). I’ve went through depression and anxiety ever since I was a kid (maybe of 6 or 7).

Anyway, now that that’s out of the way, here’s how I knew I needed help.

One, I don’t care how strong others say I am. I mean, even if I didn’t have these thoughts and feelings, it wouldn’t matter. But what makes it so different now is I dread when they say it. People sometimes say, “I commend you for you resilience” or “You’re so strong. I could not do it.” You’ll be surprised how strong you can be or how strong you become when that’s your only option in your current situation. I’m so tired of it that I get sick when people say because I’m tired of being strong and it’s mainly because I’m stuck here. It’s just for now, but still.

Two, I have suicidal thoughts. This is a bit of an obvious one, but still I want to talk about it. They come from this feeling of wanting to give up. No one seems to understand how strong that feeling is in me. They keep saying, “You can do this. You have to believe in yourself.” It’s not that. It’s not the fact that I don’t believe in myself. I’d given up a long time ago if that was the case. It’s not the fact that I think I can’t do it. There’s a reason I made it this far. I’m just tired of doing it. I’m tired of “hanging in there.” My soul, way too exhausted for words. My mind, too toxic to venture through. My heart, barely has energy to beat. For the love of everything, that’s not my problem. I know I can do this. I just lack what it takes to continue. That energy. That drive. I’m completely drained and I’m in a tight choke hold. If that makes any sense.

Finally, to explain this is to tell you about what occurred today and during last week. During last week, I grabbed a kitchen knife while I was washing dishes. I was about to put it away but soon found myself holding the knife to the portion of my arm a little below the wrist. Pressed it there gently so I wouldn’t break the skin, but part of me wanted to. Part of me kept whispering a little louder and louder to do so, but then I heard my sister’s voice and didn’t proceed. Earlier today, I grabbed the same knife and did the same thing. The whispers got louder and the temptation got stronger. Eventually I shook my head, realizing what was happening, and quickly put the knife away.

It takes a lot of guts to get help. But in the end it’s worth it. It helps. Really. If you believe you should seek help, no matter what, please do. Thank you.