This Seed
To hear the audio version check out my Substack below.
Along the way, this seed was planted in my mind, and it sprouted, and it grew a compelling story.
It told me,
"I will be at peace when this life ends.”
It told me,
“I don’t have to hurt anymore.” and that
“all the pain will go away when I die.”
It told me,
“I am a waste of space, it’s okay to give up. Life is hard. Why suffer anymore?”
It told me,
“The afterlife is filled with everlasting peace, union with God, and heaven for eternity.
Why not die to get to that Kingdom of Heaven sooner?”
It told me,
“You will see the people you love again—
the ones who died too early.”
This seed grew and became a tree, became my playhouse, convinced me to climb into isolation, to nuzzle into the shadow, and to believe my existence didn’t matter.
I draped the tree with blankets, found happiness with non-existence, yet the world forced me to be-come something.
I’d think about my Uncle Happy,
opening his door to me in his flannel top, suspenders,
jeans pulled up around his belly button, thick glasses, and chocolate.
Always handfuls of chocolate.
I’d think about his smile, his hugs, our short conversations.
I’d think about how I admired him for being so happy,
even after his wife died and his children left. He still had that twinkle in his eye.
To this day I still see him greeting me at the door, hand stretched open with tiny square chocolates in his large Dutch hand.
I’m happy to stay in denial about how he killed himself.
I’m happy to ignore the suffering in the world,
all the pain,
all the inevitable loneliness,
and loss that comes with loving someone;
and losing them,
and deciding life is too painful to go on.
And then there was Kyle.
A kid I’d only met a handful of times.
A kid I hardly knew,
but when I found out he killed himself, I broke inside. He had his entire life ahead of him and in a moment, he changed everything.
He climbed into that tree of isolation, looking for God in darkness, searching for connection through pain, and he became another statistic.
Suicide is the tenth leading cause of death in the United States.
In 2016, firearms were the most common method of death by suicide.
There’s only one way to remove this seed—
planted in my mind—
and it’s to write about it.
To speak about it.
To shine a light on it.
To hope that the people who read
my writing will feel less alone,
and less afraid to love the darkness,
and the light,
and to share their stories,
and the seeds planted
in their minds.
Love always,
Danielle Mallett
