by Joyce Jiang
Standing on the top a towering skyscraper,
she gazed down below her feet.
Her hollow eyes blinked limply while her face showed fatigue and numbness.
The pedestrians paced rapidly through the swarming streets.
From her view, they looked like minute ants,
busy for their repetitive and monotonous lives.
The piercing and rigid wind roared,
pushing her closer and closer,
to the edge of death.
One step it takes for her to fall ungracefully,
plummeting, bumping, and toppling.
Bones would shatter, gore and flesh would burst!
Her corpse would become a pile of Jam,
surrounded by people and the apathetic clicking flashing sound of phones.
How many lives would it take!
How many lives would it take for this society?
To let go their misconceptions, indifference, and stigma on these victims.
And consider this prevalent disease more than what you call “weakness”.
When this disease struck, it shredded her normal life brutally down to pieces.
It slowed down her time making 24 hours too long to endure.
Each day’s torment felt harder and harder to bear.
She took a step of courage and asked for help.
But all she received were the uncaring words of her mother,
“‘You have so many things to be thankful for,
why are you still unsatisfied!
There are many people worse than you!”’
She wanted to pour out all her cries that she had suppressed.
But all she received after a few minutes were the hasty words of
“‘Do you feel better now?’”.
They considered her depression,
no more than just irrational sadness.
She felt she was drowning in the deep sea.
No matter how she wailed or struggled,
her agonizing pain shall never convey to anyone,
just like words shall never be heard underwater.
Little by little, losing the oxygen of hope and left with the suffocating solitude.
If this was living with depression,
death presents to her as a holiday on a beach.
She stood on the edge of the towering skyscraper.
The sky was painted navy blue.
The boisterous and bustling streets gleamed with neon light.
The world became colorful.
She was still grey.
The piercing wind shoved her with its hand of indifference.
Her heels raised.
Her arms opened wide.
Her body leaned closer and closer….
Abruptly, a hand jerked her back.
It was the hand of compassion and support.
One step it takes to reach out your hand.
To sooth the wounds deep in their hearts.
To pull them back.
One step it takes,
For you and I to make a difference.