You've never been there

If you don’t know why, then call yourself lucky. If you just can’t even comprehend how something like this can happen, then you’ve never been there. And you’re very lucky. You’ve never been pushed and pushed and pushed until you’re so close to the edge you can’t believe you haven’t gone over yet. Until every thought in your head becomes so jagged and sharp that you can only wonder why you’re still in one piece; that you haven’t torn yourself to shreds from the inside out. That you haven’t exploded, or imploded, or just burst into flames. And still people keep pushing. As if they didn’t know.

If you’ve never been there, you’ll call it madness. Insanity. You’ll blame drugs and peer pressure and the devil and rock music. You’ll wonder why no one noticed, why no one reached out. You’ll wonder why the person didn’t get help. Why they didn’t turn to Jesus, or Prozac, or their friends, or their family. Because surely that’s what you would do.

Guns, ammo, murder, suicide?

You’ll wonder. You’ll shake your head and wonder.

Because you’ve never been there. You've never even been close.

You’re lucky.