Today I died. Or maybe yesterday. Actually, I don't know how long I've been deceased. I only know that for a while now life has felt heavy, painful. Sometimes I hear crying. Other times I hear people thinking I'm selfish. And so on, and so forth.
But, in reality, I had already died before.
It wasn't a sudden death. There was no call, no ambulance, no obituary. No one had to identify my body.
I simply started disappearing.
First I stopped wanting some things. Then I stopped talking about others. I learned to answer "I'm fine" even when I wasn't. I learned to smile so no one would ask too many questions.
And perhaps that's one of the problems: that some people learn too well how to appear alive.
On the outside, we keep working, studying, going out with our friends, making jokes, posting photos on social media.
On the inside, however, we've been saying goodbye for a while.
And no one notices.
Because there isn't always an obvious sign. There isn't always a person crying in a corner or saying they don't want to go on. Sometimes the sign is someone who stops answering messages. Someone who starts isolating themselves. Someone who abandons what used to make them happy. Someone who constantly repeats that they are a bother, that they are in the way, that others would be better off without them.
And other times the sign is ourselves saying:
"I don't want to worry anyone."
"I'll get over it."
"There are people who have it worse."
"I have no reason to feel this way."
As if to ask for help, we need to prove that our pain deserves to exist. But pain doesn't work like that.
You don't need to have a terrible life to be suffering.
And you don't need to be on the verge of death to deserve help.
Perhaps one of the biggest mistakes we make when we talk about suicide is talking only about the end.
About the person who is no longer here.
About the family left wondering what they could have done.
About that "if only I had known" that comes too late.
But prevention happens before.
Or it should happen before.
It happens when we truly ask someone how they are and don't automatically accept "fine" as an answer.
It happens when we stop considering someone exaggerated who has been saying for too long that they can't take it anymore.
It happens when we understand that directly asking someone if they are thinking about suicide doesn't "put ideas in their head." Sometimes it simply opens a door that person has been looking for for a long time.
And it also happens when we stop judging.
Because maybe a person doesn't really want to die.
Maybe they want what is causing them suffering to end.
And there is a huge difference between the two things.
It doesn't mean we should minimize the risk. On the contrary. It means we should listen before suffering turns into a farewell.
Sometimes saving a life doesn't seem extraordinary.
It can be sitting next to someone.
Answering a call.
Asking twice.
Accompanying them to seek help.
Saying "you don't have to go through this alone."
Or simply staying.
I write this from the metaphor of someone who has already died because I believe there are too many people walking around feeling exactly like this.
Dead inside.
Exhausted.
Convinced they have nothing more to contribute.
And yet, they are still here.
Perhaps that is the part we forget the most.
That as long as a person is still here, the story is not over yet. I'm not saying everything gets fixed by talking.
I'm not saying a conversation cures depression, a breakup, trauma, or years of suffering.
I wish it were that simple.
What I am saying is that a conversation can be the beginning.
Asking for help can be the beginning.
Someone listening to you without judging can be the beginning.
And perhaps living isn't always about wanting to live.
Sometimes living is simply about enduring today.
And trying again tomorrow.
One more time.
And another.
Until what seemed impossible starts to become a little less impossible. That's why I died today.
Or maybe yesterday.
But there's a small problem with my death: I'm still here.
I can still write these words.
I can still cross out a sentence and write another.
I can still change the ending.
And as long as I can change the ending, maybe I'm not dead.
Maybe I just needed someone to remind me that there were still pages left.
If you are going through something similar, don't wait until you're at your limit to ask for help. Talking to someone you trust, seeing a professional, or contacting help services can be that first step.
In Spain, 024 offers support to people with suicidal thoughts or risk of suicidal behavior and their families and loved ones. If there is immediate danger, call 112.
Because perhaps preventing suicide begins with something as simple—and as difficult—as learning to look someone in the eyes and ask them:
"Are you really okay?"
And staying to listen to the answer.
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