I just got this message and am going to answer it. Anonymous, this one is just for you, but since this came into our inbox anonymously I have to post it publicly. My apologies. I feel very unsure of if this is right to post this, but I want to help if I can. Anyone else can feel free to skip reading this one. - Geth

The first thing I need to say is don’t do it.

I repeat, whatever you are thinking about doing right now, I want to seriously implore you to not do it. I know you’re in a place where you’re scared and you’re confused and things seem like they aren’t going to get better, but I personally can promise you that things can and probably will change for the better. And the reason I can promise you this is that they got better for me.

You are feeling alone and I know first hand that in this mind state you feel like no one even wants to help or knows how. I know that feeling of reaching out to people and feeling them either ignore these feelings or demonstrate a complete inability to connect with any way that matters to you. I know how scary it is to need to connect with someone and to be unable to, I know how that makes you feel even crazier when you try to connect with someone and it doesn’t stick.

But I want you to know I saw your message about thirty seconds ago and I’m already writing this. I stopped everything else because even though you are anonymous to me, I want you to know that I care about you and your well being. I have a ton of shit to do. I was up way too late last night writing, and today I have all sorts of writing and show organizing to do. I need to go stand on line at the fucking post office to mail some shirts, on top of organizing this week’s episode which I’m stressed about, and the next two weeks episodes which I’m even more stressed about, and on top of all of that there’s IFC stuff to both write and organize, there’s worrying about a check I’ve been waiting forever for and that I need to pay my rent and maybe having to make some calls to deal with that. I need to buy new car insurance and switch my address on all my banking forms. And then on top of THAT, outside of being busy, there’s a conversation with myself about if I’m opening the door to all sorts of issues by even answering this on a public blog, if it is my place to answer this at all.

But I am dropping all of those concerns right now. They can go on the back burner. And the reason that can all go on the back burner is that I want you to know that I care about you. I care about you very deeply, me personally, I care about you. And I don’t even know who you are. You sent your message in anonymously and I can’t presume to know who sent it. But you are a person and you’re in a lot of pain and you need help, and as another human who has been in at least similar pain, I want you to know - I care so much about you. If it turns out that you’re already one of my best friends in the world, I care about you. If you’re someone I’ve literally never interacted with in any way before this, I care about you. You are a person and you’re in pain and that makes me care. That makes a lot of people care. I would stop on the street if I saw someone crying. I’d ask if they’re ok. Tons of people would. And even though it doesn’t seem like it right now, there are tons of people like that in your life and who you might randomly come across who would genuinely care and and want to stop and help and make sure you get through this, and make sure you get the help you need. I promise you. There’s so, so, so many people you might come across - from your own sister to total strangers - who would be willing to do their part and listen to you just because it’s the right and kind thing to do. Because you deserve that kindness.

So yeah, on my end - you reached out. I shut off my phone and I closed all my other browser windows and I’m writing this, because you are a person that deserves this time and attention.

So please, the only thing I ask in return for me giving you this time is that you don’t do it. That you take a breath and maybe at some point today take a walk and breathe some fresh air and try to clear your head and that you not do it, not today. I’ll give you my time and attention and thoughts and energy, and the only thing I’m asking in return is that you recognize that this is someone caring and that you do your best to let that get through. Ok? Deal? Honestly, if I had your email address I’d write to you there, but you came in anonymous and this is my only option, but I’m not talking to anyone else right now, I’m talking to you. It’s me and you and I consider this a personal one on one interaction and I want to make that deal with you - you reached out for help and I want to give you my time and do my best to offer up that help - and in return, I just want you to do your best to relax a little bit and not take any action that I promise you will regret and will make so many people so, so heartbroken.

People love you. I know they do. And you know that too. This may be a weird thing to post in a public blog, but I don’t even know who you are and I promise you that I love you. Despite all my flaws and weirdness and professional drive that can shut people out and my inability to ever stop working and my inability to feel comfortable outside of the bubble of my little comedy world, I’m a big softie at my core and I’m a person who’s been through a lot on my own and I came out on the other side and I just have so much love for the world and for people, and I promise you that I don’t even know you but that the love I have for people in general extends to you personally. We all have problems, and you can see even in this paragraph that I beat myself up too, but lean on the love you have for the world and know that there are other people who love it so much that it can also make them as sad as it’s making you right now. There are other people out there like you - I’m one of them. We feel so much love when we feel it, but the trade off is we feel pain just as big. And love can often sting if it’s not requited, while pain only needs you as a receptor. I get it. I know what it feels like to feel emotions in a way that you know is much bigger than most people feel them. But this pain will pass, and it will be replaced by an equal and to be honest probably even bigger feeling of joy and love. At some point those feelings will come along and wash over you as much as the pain you’re feeling right now, and I just want to beg you to push through this painful stretch, because to someday feel love and joy as big as the pain you’re feeling in this moment will be SO, SO worth it.

To answer your question directly - yes, I have had suicidal thoughts in my life. You are not alone.

I first remember having them around eighth grade. And then, during my freshman year of high school, I was being bullied pretty bad in my lunch room by a group of kids a year ahead of me. They were throwing food at my friends and I, and no one was stopping it. There was one kid, Scott Hansen, who was the worst one of all. Because you knew he was more like us then them and was just going along with it out of fear and pressure and to throw the food so as to not be the guy getting food thrown at him. So this shit was getting real bad and I talked to two different teachers and neither one of them did anything about it and as a real emotional kid who was already clearly heading into depression issues, I just plunged into an awful, awful place. And I brought a razor to school with me, and my plan was to wait until he threw food at me, then to talk to a teacher who I knew wouldn’t care, then to go to the bathroom and cut my wrists so they’d both feel horrible about themselves forever. That was a very melodramatic 14 year old kid instinct, and obviously I didn’t do it, but I think back and still get scared because I actually brought the razor with me. I took enough action to do that. Scary shit.

But you want to know the funny part? I was 14 and didn’t really get how anything worked in life and the razor I bought was a Bic single use disposable face razor. I’m glad I didn’t take the plunge, because it would have taken about half an hour to hack through my wrist with that thing. What a fucking dummy! Also, I’m amazed no one asked me why I had a Bic disposable razor on me, as I wouldn’t be able to grow any facial hair for another decade.

Things got REALLY bad for me in college and I went through a few stretches where I was very much having suicidal thoughts. I had been depressed all through high school and college, and look back and realize I had a few panic attacks in high school and had absolutely no idea what they were. But in college they got really frequent and really bad and I remember by my senior year they were out of control. I remember having a panic attack that came on so suddenly and so severely that I collapsed to the floor on the spot. I was alone in my bedroom and just fell to the ground, unable to breathe, my face going pins and needles, feeling heat spread over my entire body. I had constant stretches where I would be totally manic and where I felt like I was so out of control that I was listening to my own thoughts instead of thinking them myself. I tried to talk to a few people about it and no one really seemed to understand what I was going through, they thought that I was being melodramatic.

And I’ll tell you - there was one day where I just broke. I couldn’t handle that being how I lived anymore. I sat in my room in total darkness playing a keyboard for hours. Just so you know, I don’t know how to play a keyboard. I was just fucking jamming out in the dark by myself. Again, I think back to that and remember that I was really fucked up and out of control, but it does make me laugh so, so hard. Just 21 year old Gethard, feeling those blues, sitting in the dark in his room playing a Casio like a madman all night long. It is sort of hilarious to think about now.

But the part that’s not hilarious is that leading up to that things had gotten really dark for me and suicide was seeming like a good idea. And right in the middle of that stretch - dude/lady, not sure which one you are, I’ll just use dude as like the royal catch all dude without attaching gender to it, ok? -

Dude, right in the middle of that stretch I was at work one day at Weird NJ and climbed out of the van we used to make deliveries, and right in the middle of the street was a big fucking vintage badass pocket knife. Like RIGHT on the ground JUST outside the driver’s side door. And of course in my head, I’m like “THAT IS THE KNIFE I’M SUPPOSED TO KILL MYSELF WITH.” Like fate had said “I can see far enough ahead to know that he’ll be parking right there, so I’ll just place this knife there for him.”

So I used to keep that in my pocket. And on that keyboard night, after a few hours of just slamming keys and really expressing my pain through untrained electronic musical expression, I took out the knife and dragged it across the underside of left forearm. I wasn’t pushing very hard, but when I got back towards my elbow I pushed hard enough to break the skin, and then dragged the knife down fair enough that there was about a three inch cut. It wasn’t deep - more of a scratch then a cut - but for the first time I’d actually taken action that lead to pain. I knew that I was physically capable of cutting my wrists.

Maybe 90 seconds after that cut, one of my roommates, Tarik, opened the door to my room and was like “Yo, the keyboard is driving us all fucking insane.” But then he stopped because he saw that I was sitting in total darkness and even though I couldn’t see him yet I could feel that he was concerned. And he turned on the light and he looked at me and the first thing he said was “How did you get that cut?” And I was real cracked out and I’m sure he could see that all over my face and I lied and said I got it at work and bumped it against something and re-opened it.

And he did NOT believe me. He didn’t bring it up again, but he sat down in my room and we shot the shit and a little while into that conversation I realized he was looking out for me. And he didn’t bring up my feelings directly, but that’s because we were both 21 year old kids and he didn’t know how. But he stayed with me until I was laughing and it was clear I was feeling better and he helped get me through a night that he rightfully suspected was almost much worse than it was.

I had another friend like that too, my sophomore year. I wrote a book earlier this year and one of the chapters is about how during my sophomore year shit really hit the fan for me and also I lived with a roommate who tormented me bad and how my other roommates found it funny. And in the book I do my best to make that essay funny, but I’m telling you that I never felt more alone and it was in my own house and it was in a stretch where I felt totally unsafe and not just like people didn’t have my back but like they were actively against me. And I was really on the brink of trouble at some points. But I had this roommate Jeff, one of my best friends to this day. And he had a good computer and he used to stay up late studying and he used to let me sit in his room on the internet while he read for classes, and dude - we didn’t even say much to each other. He just opened his door to me. My one nice roommate let me sit in his room late into the night because he knew the other option was me sitting downstairs in my own room feeling progressively more horrible. And I’m pretty certain that there were a lot of nights where he wasn’t even actually reading. And I’ll tell you something really personal - I’m not the best at opening up to people from that era of my life. I have a lot of scars from where I was at and how I was treated back then. But Jeff and I are still really close. And you should know, Jeff is the best, but he’s also a huge ball buster and hilarious. And a few years ago in a rare moment of vulnerability, I said something like “Jeff, just so you know, you used to let me sit in your room overnight and I honestly think there were a couple nights where you saved my life.” And he looked at me and said “I know,” and then we went back to making fun of each other and talking about The Knicks.

Here’s another one - and this one if my brother or parents happen to read this will be super painful and I’m sure infuriating. But I once totaled my brother’s car, this was after college. And I wrote in a journal I was keeping later that night “I have no idea if I did that on purpose or not.” I crashed the car I was driving into a pick up truck, and the truck forced me into a wall and I hit the wall and flew onto the front lawn of the house this all took place in front of. And I came down hard and the seat belt caught a few inches from the steering wheel. And the car bounced up into the air again and on its way back down I had enough time to think “If that steering wheel doesn’t catch again, my brains are going to get smashed out of my head.” And it caught again. The door of the car, no joke, was smashed in and splinted and big jagged pieces of metal were like right in front of my stomach. A few more inches in the wrong direction and they would have all just stabbed me through my side. Almost immediately, housewives from all the surrounding houses came out and stood on their steps and I heard one yell to the other “Is he dead?”

But worst of all, the dude who drove the pick up truck had walked up to my car and he was NOT happy and he was NOT a sane looking dude. He was a huge muscular black guy who was wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off and ultra tight jean shorts. He looked nuts. And he was like “Get the fuck out of the car.” And I was like “I can’t, are you ok?” And he was like “Why can’t you get the fuck out of the car?” And I was in complete and total shock and just in a monotone I said “Because the door is completely caved in, but are you ok?” And he was like “Stop asking me if I’m ok. Get out here. I’m gonna fuck you up."

And then the guy who lived in the house whose front lawn we were on, he came running out like "Whoa whoa whoa! Chill out, he’s just a kid, look at his car, he’s in shock, he’s lucky to be alive, ease up on him, he’s just a kid” all stuff like that. And the dude jumped back in his truck and got out of there. The accident was ABSOLUTELY my fault so I can only assume that he didn’t have a license or something and needed to bounce.

So eventually I climbed out of the car on the other side and still in total shock said to the guy from the house, “Thank you. I think you just saved me from getting my ass kicked.”

And he looked back at me and said “It’s ok. There’s no way I was going to let a nigger beat up a white kid."

And somehow, things got even more fucked up and depressing! Can you imagine, owing your life to a RACIST? Like that was his main priority, that’s NUTS. What a fucking donkey kick to the head on top of all of the other shit from that day. Like, what do you say? "Thank you for being racist, your vicious racism just saved me?” Jeeeeez.

And I was on a team at UCB at the time and realized I was going to miss a rehearsal, so amongst calling my parents and the tow truck and the police I also called my friend Curtis Gwinn who was on my team at the time. And Curtis lived with John Gemberling. I don’t know if you’re familiar with UCB performers, but John is the best. He always is fucking around and never takes anything seriously. He’s sarcastic and fucked up and funny and always, always on, especially back then.

So John picks up the phone and I’m like “John, it’s Geth, I need to talk to Curtis.” And John realizes it’s me and starts making a baby voice and goes “I’m a BA-by.” And I’m like “John, not now, I really need to talk to Curtis.” And John goes “But don’t you care that I’m a real big BA-by?” And I flipped out and went “JOHN, NOT NOW, PUT CURTIS ON THE FUCKING PHONE” and I was so violent about it I just heard him step back from the phone and put Curtis on. It still makes me laugh to this day.

But yeah, I got home that night and was so so so scared because I have no idea to this day how much I could have prevented that accident and how much I realized it was happening and just kind of went with it. My brother found me later that day curled up on the floor in the fetal position having a panic attack in the corner of a bedroom at my parents’ house. It was not fun!

So to answer your question very bluntly and with no small amount of fear regarding sharing all these stories in public - YES, I have had suicidal thoughts. I have gone too far with them and at least in that way, I know how you are feeling.

I’m not speaking in generalities or hypotheticals when I tell you - I’ve been where you’ve been, and things will get better. And I won’t bullshit you - they’ll get better for a while, then worse again, then better again, etc. But in my experience at least, the longer time goes on, the longer the stretches of the better times get and the shorter the stretches of worse. You learn how to live with what you’re feeling now and you’ll learn how to make those feelings a source of strength in the long run.

Because I can tell you right now - all these stories I just laid out for you are grim, right? Here’s the funny part. Years later, now that the pains that cause those incidents are so far removed from the current state of my life - here’s the things that I think about now when I remember those incidents -

- I don’t think about the asshole who threw food at me or the dickhead teachers who dropped the ball and chose not to care because they didn’t want to deal with it. Those things don’t happen to anymore. Those memories don’t even sting anymore.

What I think about now is how hilarious it is that I brought a single use Bic disposable razor to my school so I could try to melodramatically kill myself in a high school bathroom. A Bic. Disposable. Razor. I am laughing right now thinking about it.

- I don’t think about how fucked up it was that I found that knife and what I used it for.

I think about playing a Casio keyboard in the dark all night. I mean… what the fuck? That’s amazing. Can you imagine if I died and they found my body next to a CASIO KEYBOARD? And all my roommates were like… “Yeah, we don’t know… he was playing a keyboard all night. Didn’t see the suicide coming… Wish we knew that the tinny tones of a battery operated powered Casio keyboard were his cry for help, we would have stepped up. But fuck, it’s a Casio keyboard, who knew?”

- I don’t think about how fucking close I came to getting killed in that car accident and how I still don’t know how much I gave up and let it happen.

I think about how funny it is that after nearly dying and then getting saved by racism, one of the funniest people I know got on the phone and told me he was “a real big baby”. If there has ever been more comical juxtaposition than where I was at and Gemberling doing a bit about how he’s a man-sized baby, I would love to know about it.

I don’t think back on the pain. I don’t think back about how lonely I felt. I don’t think back and give any thought or validity to how much I felt in those times that circumstances would never change. All of that proved untrue.

But like all aspects of life, I think back and remember… the POSITIVE parts. The funny parts. The ridiculous parts. I think back to separate incidents where I had actual suicidal thoughts and at times even dipped my toes into actions, and I laugh. The pain wasn’t permanent. The pain, it turns out, wasn’t even real. It was a passing cloud, and with the perspective of time I realize that they were feelings that reflected not the actual circumstances of my life, but the fact that I was struggling through some shit during those times that masked my ability to see the joy in life around me back then. But now? I can look back at the absolute darkest things and the only reaction I have to them is to laugh at the funny specifics that surrounded them. Even those bring joy.

There’s happiness and love and life all around you. Right now you can’t see it. Seriously - I promise you, from personal experience, you will see that love in things again. This isn’t some bullshit brochure about suicide prevention. This isn’t some health class rhetoric being spit out at you. This is a guy you actually reached out to, actually answering, and actually saying that yes he has been there, and actually saying that if I had gone through with what my impulses were telling me to do, I would have missed out on so many of the absolute BEST parts of my life. Big parts, small parts, tiny moments, and life changing grand adventures, I wouldn’t have seen so many of the things that blew me away with their beauty and what they say about life. I wouldn’t have met SO MANY PEOPLE who have good in their souls and who look to share it every day. I wouldn’t have taken them up on it, and the problems I had that were leading me to want to get the fuck out of here were not equal to those joys. Looking back I realize that the problems and dark times were small when compared to the absolute grand beauty and joys of so many experiences I’ve had since.

And I want to say this, too - I once read a Morrissey quote (big fucking surprise, right?) where a journalist had asked him about having so many sad fans. And how there were suicidal people listening to his sad songs and did he think he was helping people to the cowardly way out. And he said some version of “I actually take offense to calling suicide a cowardly way out. It’s actually quite brave.”

I get what he meant by that, and I bet right now you do too. You aren’t a coward if you can commit suicide. You are actually overcoming every screaming human instinct that wants you to stay alive. To actually take actions that go against every single impulse your body has as an animal, you have to be extraordinarily strong mentally to be able to think your way past the instincts that want you to stay alive. And you do, in a very twisted way, need to be incredibly brave to be able to take physical actions that you know will end your life.

Well if you’re strong enough to turn off those impulses, and you’re brave enough to take those actions, then you’re certainly also strong and brave enough to face this pain and stay alive instead.

You are strong. You are brave. You are beautiful. You are loved. And you have so many experiences ahead of you. There will be more hard experiences ahead of you, but there will also be so many shockingly beautiful ones.

The first time you do something is the hardest time. When I first went to therapy I felt completely defeated and shitty. When I first went on medication, I felt weak, like I should have been able to handle my bullshit myself, I was defeated. There were all sorts of weird side effects then - medications have gotten so much better. It felt like such a valley, such a moment of defeat, like I said.

Well, within two years of going on medication, I found myself driving cross country for the first time. This was 2004. I’ve gone cross country five times since then, it’s just about my favorite thing, driving around this country.

And that first time, there was this stretch. I’m pretty sure it was in New Mexico. And my buddy Nick Mougis was doing the trip with me and he fell asleep, he was out.

And this train rolled by. This big gigantic freight train. And I don’t know how to explain it except to say that the timing of how things worked out meant that for about an hour or two, me and this train were doing this weird dance. I didn’t see any other cars the whole time. I was just along this train in the middle of this vast desert on one side and all this prairie grass type stuff on the other. Then the train would dip in one direction and I’d lose sight of it, then 15 minutes later the highway would bend and the train would come back into view way out on the horizon, then the train would come back towards the highway and I’d see it from a new angle, then the highway would go up on a bridge and the train would duck under it and I’d think that would be it, but then the tracks would curve and the train was on the other side of me and I was seeing it from a whole new angle. That went on for like I said, between an hour or two. My buddy asleep, no other cars, just me and this insane landscape I’d never seen while growing up in the northeast, and this giant freight train that was just weaving around me on different sides of the highway.

I don’t think there’s anyway to make it sound impressive in writing eight years later. I’m not a good enough writer for that. So I’ll just say that I was very aware while this was happening that it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I’d never been more at peace than I was while driving in total isolation, this really good friend of mine sleeping soundly next to me, nature unfolding before me, I was just a small dot of a car somewhere in this vast giant part of America, with no one I knew worried about me, with no anxiety or fear or depression on my mind, there was just me and the sky and the desert and this train. I wanted to cry, not even because I was happy, but because I was so much at peace.

Dude, it was less than two years before that when I crashed a car and immediately realized that I at least partially allowed it to happen in the hopes that I would die. Less than two years. That’s how long it took for me to go from one of the darkest incidents I’ve ever had to something so overwhelmingly beautiful that I know there is no way to describe it to anyone in a way that captures how it made me feel, and how that means that even more than it already was it will be an incident that existed in time only for me, and that because it is something I will never figure out how to capture in words or writing or feeling, it will always remain only mine, and that somehow makes it even more beautiful.

Those experiences are waiting for you. There are things you will see. There are people you will meet. There are experiences you will have. They will blow you out of the water. You will find incidents that make you want to pull your car over to the side of the highway so you can cry about how at peace you feel, but you can’t do it because then the train will pass you by and the euphoria of that experience will end before it has to. And I won’t lie - I’m not a motivational speaker, I’m just a very average person you asked for help and I’m not going to sugar coat anything - you’ll have more heartbreaks, you’ll have more crushing blows, and yes, you will have more incidents where you feel that all hope is gone. Just last weekend, I had a panic attack on stage at UCB, walked off the stage in the middle of a show, and wound up sitting on a bench in Weehawken, NJ, completely scared and crying and lonely and wondering if the cliffs of Weehawken were steep enough that you could die if you jumped off of them. But it never felt as serious as it used to, and it lasted one night with a few weeks of really tough recovery, instead of years and years like that process used to.

I really can’t implore you enough to go get professional help. There’s no shame in it. And if you’re reaching out to a comedian no one has even heard of anonymously over Tumblr, you are smart and brave enough to know you need help. But I’m telling you that I can’t provide that help more than I just did in this writing, and there are people who are trained to help you through this way more sufficiently, and some of them actually know what they’re doing. I’ve met a whole lot of bum shrinks in my day who I didn’t respect. But eventually after a few tries, I’ve found someone who I’ve worked with for five years. She’s wonderful, she doesn’t judge me, she’s been through her own stuff, and she’s heard it all. She is someone who has helped me personally, professionally, emotionally, and spiritually, all by being someone who I trust enough to let see all of my insane sides.

There are people who can help. Please, find someone you trust and allow them to help you. I can’t do it. When you say that my show was the last thing you could look forward to - I’m so, so glad the show provided you happiness, but the show at the end of the day is a comedy show and it might make you feel better for one hour a week, but it can not save you. Help can save you. Find doctors. Call them today. If you don’t have insurance, find someone who will work out a deal and let you pay them later. There are numbers you can call for free right now where someone will sit on the line and hear any crazy shit you want to throw at them and they won’t hang up and they won’t judge you. You can walk into any emergency room in America right now and tell them what’s going on, and they’ll give you a room with a bed and you can turn off your phone and you won’t have to worry about any of this for a while because there will be people looking out for you.

I know that’s true, because when I was in Weehawken, things got bad enough that I knew if I couldn’t talk to my shrink that night I would be checking myself into the psych ward of the nearest hospital within a few hours. I feel ZERO SHAME about that. I had an anxiety attack, it reeled out of control, and I was thinking about putting my phone in my glove compartment so I couldn’t use it to call anyone for help, buying a bottle of whiskey after not drinking for over ten years, and drinking it until I blacked out just to see what would happen. Those were not rational thoughts for me - when my thoughts stop being rational and get that out of control, I know that I need help and I feel absolutely NO SHAME in seeking that help out. My shrink picked up the phone that night. If not, I would have spent a couple days in a hospital. I don’t feel bad at all, I feel zero shame, typing that here where it’s meant for you but anyone in the world might read it. I’m not ashamed at all that I almost wound up in a mental ward a few weeks ago. No skin off my back at all. It happens, it’s a part of my life sometimes, dealing with this stuff.

You need help right now. You asked me for it anonymously on tumblr. You and I both know that this answer might make you feel better, it might make you feel worse, I don’t know, I’m not a medical professional. But no matter how it makes you feel, we both know that it can’t solve your problems, because that’s not who I am and that’s not what this blog is for. But you reached out for help to me - you can reach out for help to other people. You’ve broken the seal on looking for help. Find a doctor. Call a hotline. Go to an emergency room. Please, don’t wait. Go now. Walk out of work. If you’re not at work, go tell a family member they should drive you to the hospital. If you don’t want to tell them you think you’re going fucking nuts, tell them you’re having an asthma attack, then tell the doctor the real truth once you get there. Just go get help. You are strong and you are brave. Be strong and brave enough to go get help.

And please. Always remember that beautiful experiences and massive amounts of love are on their way. If you are able to feel pain and sadness this profoundly, more than most people can ever imagine, remind yourself that you can feel happiness and joy and love this profoundly as well, and that’s our little reward as depressed people. We feel things harder than other people do, and when those things are negative they are complete and total torture. But while we feel pain harder than other people have to, we feel beauty and joy and love harder than anyone else gets to, and that’s the victory that’s waiting on the other side of this pain for you. Hang on. Be tough. Better times are coming. Beautiful things and loving people are already out there, and when this cloud passes you get to experience them all so, so deeply.

Please know that you are loved. Please know that there’s help. It’s right there, right now for you. It is as close as your phone. Call a hotline. Go to a hospital. Don’t wait. Don’t feel stupid. Don’t feel defeated. Most of all, don’t think you can shoulder this on your own. Take action right now and help yourself.

Feel better.

Don’t do it.

I got your back.

Very sincere love to you,

Gethard