It was just the cat.

The smell of coffee wafted through the air and hit me like a warm embrace right before the machine sounded, signaling the liquid of the gods was ready to be devoured.

This morning was like every typical morning, drink the coffee then do the things.

But something about the way the sun was cresting through the window gently shining on the dark green leaves of the array of plants in the windowsill, that bit of sparkle in the granite shining with all its might, and that warming glow that makes the room feel homey and yet still so full of energy, that caught me off guard and made me stop and take it all in.

A few moments passed and my husband caught me, lost in a daydream, he kissed me-

"Have a great day Scar, I'll see you after work. Love you!"

And just like that, he was out the door.

You never really discern how much silence having another person around fills, until they're gone and you're alone standing on the other side of the door.

Some, I imagine, find much peace with this, others, not so much. I can confirm - strongly - that I am indeed the latter.

But there was much to do and only a meager window of warmth to work in. The spring in our little mountain town is an odd one. Some days it's sunny and 85 all day and some days by noon it's pouring rain with winds that pierce through the drywall. Other days it never gets above 40.

Luckily, it was 75 degrees with a slight breeze, so I figured it would be safe to finally tackle cleaning out the attic.

3 hours into the mess, I cursed my husband for having so much crap. At the time, we had gotten married just 6 months before and neither of us had wanted to face this disaster of a "room" if you can even call that triangular-shaped, spider-infested, dark, mildew-smelling, death trap such a thing. But I was determined to make SOME progress.

Through much laughter, I tried to haul one of the far corner boxes onto another pile, realizing that at 5ft tall, lifting boxes onto the top beams would be out of the question. I went for a smaller box, one that I was sure I'd be able to easily move to a different pile of boxes in which I had deemed "the organized corner of boxes", but just as I lifted it - the bottom fold that had held the cardboard box together flung open and the contents hit the ground with a large thud and a whimper from me as a black notebook landed directly on my toe.

On the cover, in a rose gold foil inlay and a pretentious cursive font, "Scar", an odd thing to name a child I always thought.

Someone raised their hand-

To stop you right there, no, it's not short for Scarlette, or anything of similar. My parents just wanted to be "different".

The audience laughed.

So, I was reminiscing on all this little black book and I had been through together and figured it was time for a well-deserved break. I poured myself another strong cup of coffee and sat down and flipped through the tattered pages of the book.

A few pages in there was an entry, one that I remembered all too clearly.

December 19th -

"Victory. In it to win it they’ll say, that’s what everyone strives for right? But what about the people who wish to die? For them, victory has an entirely different meaning."

I stopped and took a deep breath, I knew what was coming.

"There was this girl who had a daily battle, more dangerous than war. It was a war against herself, a war against her mind. Nobody saw through the girl's broken smile or fake laugh that she put on every day.

But every night she’d lock the door and draw her dark red lines, she’d tell you a million times not to worry and that everything is fine. She’d try and fight the demons in her head, but they never stopped screaming.

Eventually, she needed it, the demons no longer had to egg her on. It fueled her, even when it was no one's voice but her own. She needed it, she needed the red lines to survive.

A swift movement and it stops, and then tomorrow it begins again.

During the day, she walked straight, she talked to her friends and it seemed as if her world was so bright. No one knew, that when the sun went down the demons came out and she’d fall back down the rabbit hole.

So here was this girl, alone and scared, her world was dark but she didn’t seem to care. After a while, you just get used to it, what're a few more lines anyway?

Soon enough her arms were filled with red, and she got careless at trying to hide them. Every so often, someone would catch a glimpse, a sleeve pushed up or caught on her watch. They would ask what happened and she’d say “oh it was just the cat”. And just as quickly as the wave of red hit her, that someone would finally catch her in her lie, they'd nod and continue with their day.

She hated what she’d become, but still, she continued to draw those dark red lines. Lying to all of the people she loved about what she was doing to herself. The depression numbed her and she just wanted to feel.

The scariest part isn’t the realization that you have completely lost yourself. It’s not the loneliness or the darkness that overcomes and fills you or even the never-ending pit of emptiness.

The scariest part is when you lay awake at 3 am because you no longer have the ability to sleep and you can’t even cry, because you don’t even care..."

Just as I finished reading the entry, the phone rang and pulled me back to reality and into my kitchen, it was my husband calling.

"Hey babe, what's up?!" I asked.

"You are NEVER going to believe this!" he said, "Remember that writing competition we entered a few months ago?! Well, we WON the $20,000!!!".

I started cracking up - I mean, absolutely lost my mind.

And as you can imagine, my dear husband was not sure what was going on, but he laughed with me anyway. We celebrated later that evening with a bottle of wine, a good movie, a bowl of popcorn, and our two dogs.

So, why am I telling you this story?

Because if I was sitting where you are today and you told me, that I'd be happily married for over a year, win a writing competition and have a child on the way, let alone that I'd be standing up here, in my hometown, at my old high school giving a speech for suicide awareness week - I would have laughed uncontrollably while rolling my eyes because there would be no way you could comprehend the complexity of what demons I was facing every single day.

When I was a child, I could not fathom why someone would hurt themselves on purpose, and, just the same, I didn't understand what depression meant. At 15, I came to understand all to well. It was a solidarity experience where every night I had to return to my room in hell with only my name on the door. I struggled endlessly, I wanted to put everything I was feeling emotionally into something physical because it’s much easier to recognize that you are in pain as a result of a cut rather than the emotions you can’t see.

Sound familiar?

I never wanted to give in to the demons and give up- though I thought about it many, MANY times. Just like many of you, the struggle for me has always been to keep fighting - to keep living.

I'm here to tell you, life gets better- much better, make sure you're there to see it.

I put my hand on my belly and smiled, “Thank you”.

____________________________________________

If you or someone you love is in crisis or considering self-harm, you can receive free, confidential support.

Call The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

1-800-273-8255