The Lady on The ledge

It’s the sound of your giggle echoed profoundly within the four chambers of my heart in which I find the most joy. –

The look in her eyes frightened my soul to the very edge of the platform. The horror was suppressed in the glare of her beautiful brown eyes submerged underneath a fountain of tears elegantly streaming down her cheek. They slipped straight down the smooth features of her face, each tear extending its presence down the curves of her porcelain skin, their saltiness finally reaching the corner of her mouth.

Standing underneath her tears, she had always found herself looking up at everyone, but this time it was different. She no longer felt deceived by her incapability to be in control of her reactions to others comments, but rather, she felt a surge of empowerment. She was now in control, and she could now decide when enough was enough by simply stepping forward.

Forgive me for the lack of an adequate introduction, but the truth of the matter is, I do not know who this young woman is. I know of her, but I do not know her story; what my ignorance does acknowledge encompasses the interpretation of what this woman was about to do and why she was going to do it.

I saw her stand atop the world as a powerless queen ready to take her life, but I also saw her step down from her pedestal as a powerful peasant. Around her, thousands of men, women, and those in between walked around downtown Chicago without the knowledge of the crime this young girl wanted to commit. Underneath her stood the law, ready to take away her right to her own life.

What was she thinking and why. The sound of the sirens was drowned out by her thoughts, and the pictures of the few people who cared were shattered by the majority who did not. There are people who strive through troubles and continue to live their lives through pain, and there are others who cannot bear the pain of being left alone. We find the answer to all we can not answer in a simple term: illness. We need to take a step back and understand what depression is, and accept it is not an illness curable with prescriptions. It is not an illness at all. If depression is an illness, then we are all sick, and we are all dying, which to an extend is an appropriate statement.

The inexplicable is to depression as depression is to the inexplicable.

How do we explain something we can not ourselves as a community understand.

How do we create a safe space for people of all backgrounds to open up and express their depression when we turn to illness as the answer for everything misunderstood.

Thankfully, this young woman did not commit suicide today, and hopefully she will not commit suicide tomorrow or the day after. The grace of her depression was carried by the wind and distributed amongst us. She was a goddess in distressed, and she was stripped of her halo before she was even delegated.

Lady on the ledge, Thank you.

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