What are you going to do, stab me?

by Harry Harry
0 comment 111 views
going to do

What are you going to do, stab me? This is what the officer asked when I told him what happened. He laughed and said “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The thing is, I knew what he was talking about because it’s all over the news right now. So what am I going to do? Stab myself in front of a cop who thinks what happened is funny? It would be easy enough for me to get a knife and just end my life before they get here as well…

What are you going to do, stab me?

This is what the officer asked when I told him what happened. He laughed and said “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The thing is, I knew what he was talking about because it’s all over the news right now. So what am I going to do? Stab myself in front of a cop who thinks what happened is funny? It would be easy enough for me to get a knife and just end my life before they get here as well…

So that people remember this happens more often than anyone wants to acknowledge, there needs to be some place where we can go with our stories so others will listen. We need something like an open mic night but instead of what we did on stage, we share what’s happened to us. We need a place where people can be angry and not feel like they’re alone in it. I’m talking about this because I have had depression for as long as I remember. It wasn’t diagnosed until recently though because my mother didn’t believe that mental illnesses even existed–it was all just made up so the person could get attention or something else more sadistic than anything she knew how to articulate but what she said amounted of ‘not real.’ Depression isn’t real? How do you think someone feels when he doesn’t want his life anymore?

When there is nothing left to live for except taking away everything from those who are still alive? That feeling is very real and what I lived with for a long time.

It was hard to be myself around other people because what others looked at as ‘normal’ never felt like it would work for me I needed something more perfect or else I wouldn’t measure up in my own mind, but nothing ever felt right. There has been so much pain in my life that when the depression hit harder than normal, there wasn’t anything left of me worth saving. The only thing left is what made sure this didn’t happen again: becoming strong enough not to give into the darkness even if every day feels like one step closer to giving up everything you’ve tried so hard to hold on too just by being alive. Now I want to know what you’re going to do: what are you going to do when I’m not what you need me to be, what are you going to do while nothing goes the way it’s supposed too? What are you gonna give up on me?’

I want someone who can face this with me and take my hand in theirs without letting go. Someone who wants this as much as I do someone that will stay with me until death.

This is what we’re fighting for always; what keeps us alive even though so many times there doesn’t seem like a reason left anymore. We have each other now and we’ll never let go because if one of us fails then both of us fail together, but if we hold onto each other tight enough then we’ll never let go.

I want someone who can face what I’m going through without breaking down, what are you going to do when everything is wrong? What will make this worth it in the end if there’s nothing left for me to hope for anymore? You need to know what it is that I really want: and what keeps us both alive.

Topic sentence: what are you going to do, stab me?

The question what are you gonna do, stab me is often used as a rhetorical device in dialogue and colloquial speech. It can also be seen written on t-shirts or other apparel which convey the sentiment “it’s not what I’m going to do but what you’re going to do” Growing up with parents who were involved in law enforcement had its pros and cons. There was always an annual trip for dinner at the station; it wasn’t unusual that my mom would have her badge clipped there while she ate lunch with some of her coworkers. My dad brought home work sometimes – he’d hand over evidence bags so we could help him solve

Leave a Comment