What would a tour of hell look like through a teen’s eyes?
I have the pleasure of working with a teen on ways for her to find a better direction in her life. One of the directions, she has said, is Hell. Suicide is an option that many people choose, and as she has stated in her writing, it would end her pain, but would leave shame and sadness with those whom she’d leave behind.
In a moment of overwhelm she texted me this statement:
I would honestly fucking kill myself if it didn’t affect any of the people I care about. I’m done with trying to live, but I can’t leave all these people with the shame of my suicide. I really just want to stop breathing. I’d rather stop living and simply start on my tour of hell…
I asked, “What would your tour look like?”
It is horrible. Screams are coming from every direction. Lonely souls in the dark are crying, begging for help. Orange and bright red fiery colors everywhere. Death. Blood is splattered all over and every drop of it is coming to life and grabbling me by the wrists, pulling me into the black hole of despair. Black, Black, Black. Everyone is there, but no one is around. Alone, Alone, Alone! It’s horrible.
The screams are coming from all the lonely people. They want to draw me in to come and play their little games. I can hear them all crying, “Save me.” Horrible!
Kathy, imagine walking out to the pasture and seeing Holly over the fence. She sees you, comes trotting over, and as she gets close enough to reach out your hand to touch her, she disappears. You look all around and all the other horses are gone, too. You run to look in the barn. Nothing. You run to the house and call for your boyfriend, searching the house. NOTHING. You hear a noise and feel a raw slim hand on your shoulder. You turn around and you’re staring straight into the eyes of Satan himself.
He’s familiar to me. He acts like my best friend, except he doesn’t want me to come live with him. I feel the pressure of the hand on my shoulder; it feels like 5 nails wrapped around me. I turn my head ever so slightly and see, clutching my skin, 6 inch long little bones, with cracks and breaks all over. The white color is so pure and perfect, but the outlining of it is the deepest darkest most furious black I have ever seen. The bones squeeze my shoulders so tightly I can feel blood rushing to the spot, looking like a bruise, but it’s not. I lose the color in my face and my arms. I feel numb and it’s spreading up my legs. My entire body is becoming pale because the power of the touch is sucking the life right out of me. As if I needed it. As if I weren’t already dead inside. As if my heart still had a reason to beat. As if I had any life to be taken out of me.
Reading her story, I hope others who are thinking about suicide to relieve their pain might be touched. And might consider other options. My horses and I are guiding her to see other pathways — options that might mean a lot of work. In reality life has so many beautiful possibilities available to explore and consider. As you can see by this essay, my teen has a talent for writing, and I have asked her to write about another pathway she might find exciting. Let’s see what she writes next!