You should still be here (rough draft)

I remember your brown eyes and how they were usually sad. And I remember that you tried. You tried so hard. You lamented over the weight gain due to typical antipsychotics amongst all the other side effects. You were always positive, even when you were struggling the most. You were kind, heartwrenchingly kind. You followed every direction your doctors gave you to the nth degree. You took all right steps: exercise, fish oil pills, diet, sleep, getting a job, maintaining a support network of peers, family, and professionals.

You should still be here.

It should have been better for you. You should have gotten your happiness. I wonder where it all went wrong, or maybe it never got better, enough. I want a thing or a person to blame. I want to know why. I want to know why you’re not here.

You should still be here.

I am so angry. Not at you, but the disease, the darkness. Someone should have been holding your hand that night, talking you out of sharp edges and bleeding out. I would have held your hand. I would have told you, promised you, that it gets better. I would have reminded you that the disease lies just as easily as it steals, but it DOES GET BETTER. It WILL get better. It would’ve gotten better.

You should still be here.

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