One More Light

This picture was taken in May of 2017, but I saw it yesterday on Instagram when one of my friends posted it. It’s a picture of a suicidal man who was ready to jump off a bridge. This is from an article in “Metro” about the incident: “Photos taken in Golders Green, North London, show strangers gripping tightly onto the man as he stood on the edge of the bridge. Each person held on to different parts of his body, refusing to let him go. Some even tied ropes around his body and legs to secure him to the railings until the emergency services could arrive. None of the people are thought to have known each other before the incident, but they all stayed with the man for two hours.”

I’ve been where this man was—on a metaphorical bridge—desperate, depressed, lonely, and truly believing that the only way to end my pain was to end my life. And, like this man, I was pulled back from the edge. Monty was the only one who knew the depth of the depression I was in. And he held onto me for dear life—sometimes literally—to keep me safe. My parents knew some of what I was going through. One night when I left their house, dreading the night ahead, my mom grabbed my wrist and said, “Stay connected to me.” I mumbled something and tried to walk away, but she held on. She told me to look at her and said: “Renee, I mean it. Stay connected.” I didn’t want to. I wanted to let go. But that night, I kept hearing her words and seeing her eyes. When morning came, I was still holding on. Another time, my dad told me to remember what was true and to look at my wrist at the words I have tattooed there—“Look up.” That night, I begged God to remind me of His truth. I looked up and remembered my value to God. And when morning came, once more I was still holding on.

There’s a beautiful sentence in that article I quoted about the man on the bridge: “Each person held on . . . refusing to let him go.” That’s what my family did for me. They got me through the darkest nights until the nights became days when I was healing due to therapy and medication. But it wasn’t just my family. I still hear from people, some of whom I know, some of whom are strangers to me but know my friends or family, who say they were praying for me back then. Family, friends, and even strangers were holding on to me and refusing to let me go even when I didn’t know it.

When you’re clinically depressed, your brain lies to you. It tells you that you’re broken beyond repair. That you’re a burden. That your pain is never going to end. That no one cares if you live or die. You can’t imagine a future for yourself. You can’t think of a single reason to hold on and keep living.

There’s a song by the band Linkin Park that has resonated with me since I first heard it in early 2017. It’s called “One More Light:”
“Who cares if one more light goes out?
In a sky of a million stars
It flickers, flickers
Who cares when someone’s time runs out?
If a moment is all we are
We’re quicker, quicker
Who cares if one more light goes out?
Well I do.”

I used to ask myself if anyone would care if my light went out. In my rare moments of clarity, I knew people cared. On the night when I saw tears in my brother’s eyes after I told him how I was feeling, I knew. When Monty physically held me to keep me safe, I knew. All of those times, I knew—on some level, even in the darkness, I knew. I assume that Chester Bennington, the lead singer of Linkin Park, knew that, too. But the darkness he felt must have overwhelmed those truths. In July of 2017, just three months after that song came out, Chester committed suicide.

As hard as it is to think of that song now, I mention it because I think its message is of utmost importance: if you’re wondering right this minute if anyone cares if your light goes out—well, I do. I care. And I’m not the only one. Remember that. Remember the strangers on the bridge who held onto a man they didn’t even know for two hours, just to keep a fellow human being alive. Remember that, and even though it’s hard and might feel nearly impossible, trust the people who are holding on to you, not what your mind is telling you. If you can’t fight anymore, they’ll fight for you. If you can’t pray, they will. If you feel like you can’t hold on for one more minute, they’ll hold on to you and refuse to let you go. That’s why I’m still here—in my desperation, I reached out, and people grabbed my hands and held on to me. God held on to me. And my light didn’t go out. It’s still shining, even when it flickers. And tonight, it shines for you.

The website suicidepreventionlifeline.org offers a 24/7 helpline at 1-800-273-8255 and an option to chat live with a counselor using your computer or phone. According to the website, “Anyone who is depressed, going through a hard time, needs to talk, or is thinking about suicide can use the chat. The chat counselors are here to listen and support you through whatever difficult times you may be facing.”