How do I say this?
How do I convince a stranger of something I can barely believe myself? The words won't come, they're rusted now. Long since quashed away, and kept at bay.
The question is why me.
Because I've been doing this since I was 14. From the moment I got that message and stayed up a little later to try and talk her out of it. Since I listened to stories of therapy, torture and temptation for my teenage years. Since she came to school with BROKEN carved in naked flesh, head held high. This was before scarfication, before tattoo parlours were paid for mutilation. Since the air left the room with three words: he killed himself. Since food became a hated ritual, since coersion became rape, since the politicking and the power got in the way of aid. Since I can still barely keep it together when I think of what we went through.
The answer is because I give a shit.
The body count matters to me. That finite amount of pain and suffering which a human can endure is ever present in my mind - who'll reach it next? Who's next to fall? To whom will I have to explain the nuances of life after suicide?
The question is who are you.
I'm the girl with creepy eyes, who'll make you vomit secrets with a gaze. I'm the protector, guardian - overworked and unacknowledged though slightly sidetracked of late. I'm the brick wall in your mind that stops you finding out "what if?".
I'm a kid at heart, with an appreciation for simplicity. Colours make me smile, and children are my inspiration.
The answer is whoever you need me to be.
The question is why do we care?
Because I'm a terrible actress, and the fear I feel is real. But I pull my strength from the Earth and carry hope with me always. I'm capable and kind; calm, cool and collected. But most of all: because this is who I am, who I've always been and what I am meant to become.
Medicine is my soul.