Once upon a time, I was talking on instant messenger to one of my friends. She told me that she was having a difficult day, and in my bumbling, awkward way I tried to help her. I am terrible at confrontations of any nature, and find myself feeling awkward and out of place, especially when people are sad. So, I suppose when I am on IM I am in my element. I can actually take time to think of something that makes sense and is useful instead of saying the first thing that comes out of my mouth, which (and you can trust me on this) is typically not the most helpful thing.

    I had known for a while that she was struggling with depression, and I always like to be there for her when she is feeling down. She is getting help and counseling, but some days everyone just feels down in the dumps. So through a series of IMs with the expression of thoughts and feelings on her side, and responses and attempts at humor on mine, my friend was once again the crazy, happy, insane person that I know and love.

    Through this same person I have recently become aware of a non-profit organization that deals with raising awareness of depression, and the self-injury, and drug and alcohol abuse that in some cases is associated with it. This organization is called “To Write Love On Her Arms” (twloha.com). The website gives statistics, shares stories offers merchandise and above all, ways to find help for those who are depressed. It is designed to connect those who are suffering from depression to one another so they realize that they are not alone.

    The meat of the whole organization is based on a short story, a true story, written by Jamie Tworkowski. The story details the first days of a young woman’s rescue from her self-injuring behavior of cutting, drugs and alcohol. The words in the story shoot straight to your heart, detailing the world during Renee’s first sober days. She eventually hands the narrator her last razor blade, and it is a symbol of her acceptance and willingness to step away from the unfortunate world that she had lived in, and into the world of love and hope. The story never fails to move me, never fails to make me want to help change a person’s life in so profound a way. It is not even as if the story is in prose. “It is as if it is a song,” is the best way that I can describe it, but my words are borrowed from the person who introduced me to the organization to begin with. It is as if it were a song where everyone has their own tune, but you just have to be strong enough to follow yours.

    The reason that I bring this organization up now is the fact that today (well, the day I originally wrote the blog) is Valentine’s Day, which has an extremely high suicide rate. February 13, however, was a day dedicated to show everyone the love that we all share. The 13th is “Love is the Movement” Day, where we remind those people who are depressed that they are not alone, and that they are loved.

    The evening before there was t-shirt making on campus, and while many of the people who attended were genuinely interested in spreading the love and hope that is idealized in “To Write Love On Her Arms,” others were clueless to what they were doing, why they were doing it, and not very open or engaged in the spirit of TWLOHA. One student even asked, “What is tomorrow, National Don’t Kill Yourself Day?” I was embarrassed for the student because I do not believe that he realized exactly what he had said.

    After the t-shirt making was over, my friend told me, “No wonder depressed people feel like they are alone, if people have this sort of reaction.” This is also when she bitterly said the quote that is the title of this entry. It made me sad to think that anyone who is supposed to be supporting such a good and just cause would be so ignorant of the actual purpose. So, with the help of others, I house-mailed a copy of Renee’s story to all of the people who attended the t-shirt making. I hope that the story inspires them, just as it has inspired me, to love more, be more accepting, and above all things to remember.