I have been sitting and ruminating on this for almost three weeks now. There are words that no matter how you combine them you never want to say them, sentences you never want to write.

Three weeks ago, someone that I was honored to call my friend took his life.

He was only 25 and while I didn’t know him for a great span of time, I knew him long enough for him to make an impact. I “met” Om Arvind after joining the Managing Madrid staff back in 2018. I was in awe of his ability to break down games and write thought provoking pieces. He saw things in the games that I’ve never picked up, even though I’ve been around soccer/football for my entire life. I frequently found myself wishing that I could write about the technical side of the game like him. In fact, this made this season’s UEFA Champions League final almost unbearable at times. I kept watching for his tweets to show up, especially when Real Madrid made mistakes or scored. (As far as I’m concerned, they won their 15th for Om. You’re not going to be able to convince me otherwise.)

In and out of the context of soccer, he stood up for equality, for human rights, for changing how we view and treat women. I will never forget his response when, after researching and writing a piece regarding allegations toward a now former Real Madrid player, I received a death threat. (It shook me to my core and I would be lying if I said it didn’t impact my time as a writer.) After sharing with the editors, Om reached out saying, “Staystrong sister, we got your back.” And they did.

As I sit and write through the grief, I keep finding myself asking what I could have done differently. Questioning if I could have done anything differently. What signs did I miss? Why didn’t I reach out more? Would that have changed anything?

I debated with myself for a bit about what I would write, if I wrote anything, while on my way home from church. That’s when Logic’s “1-800-273-8255” came on. I knew I needed to write, not for me, not necessarily for Om even, but for those who end up with unanswerable questions or those who are on the brink of giving up.

You see, I’ve been there. Holding my life in my own hands and debating what to do next. After a few weeks of wishing that semi driver would fall asleep and come into my lane or wondering what if I just happened to be stuck on train tracks at the right time, I decided to do it myself. My life felt like it was absolutely crashing down around me, and I felt like I was drowning on dry land. I couldn’t see a way out. I couldn’t see anyone around me to help. They were there, I know that now, but my depression had gotten to the point where I fully and whole heartedly believed that no one could reach me. That I was so alone, no one would hear me cry out for help if I did. I was so mired in the right now that was causing my misery that I couldn’t even begin to fathom the what could be.

I often tell a story of when I lived in Ecuador and some friends and I went on a bike ride in the jungle that took us through a tunnel. At a certain point in the tunnel, there was no light – none from the entrance, none from the exit. That’s where I was when I decided I was going to drive off a bridge. When the day came, I merged into the left hand lane and took a deep breath. As soon as my tires hit the edge of the bridge, I felt arms wrap around me and hold me so tightly that I couldn’t turn my wheel. I know it sounds incredible, but God stepped in when I couldn’t step out. Now, I don’t know why me and why not Om or anyone else for that matter, but I know that if he hadn’t – I would’ve missed out on some of the biggest blessings in my life. (To be quite clear, this isn’t to cause debate around the existence of God, this is my experience.)

I find it ironic that the very questions my family and friends would’ve been asking are the same ones that I’m finding myself asking over these past three weeks. The awful reality is this: there was quite possibly nothing any of us could have done differently. When you are at the point where you have the gun, or the rope, or you have found your bridge, there are no words that can snap you out of it. (At least that’s how it was in my case.) While there may be signs, some of us are really good at masking to the point where everyone thinks we are perfectly fine until we’re gone or we’re admitting that we were almost gone. I absolutely could’ve reached out more, but we weren’t “talk everyday” friends. I live in a different state so I couldn’t have physically seen anything. His social media didn’t indicate any changes that would’ve caused concern.

If you are at the point where you are ready to buy a gun or rope or look for a bridge, I promise you there are people who know where you stand and what you’re feeling even if your reasons are entirely different. If you’ve already bought your gun, your rope, found your bridge, your tomorrow is brighter if you would just give it a chance.

The rest of the story of the bike ridge goes like this: I am terrified of being in dark places that I couldn’t see out of and hitting that point in the tunnel nearly paralyzed me with fear. (We, of course, did not anticipate a dark tunnel and did not bring flashlights.) I couldn’t see anything, but I could hear my friends, so I kept pushing my panic attack away and pushing forward with my bike. Slowly, a pinprick of light became visible so I focused on that and I could feel my breathing ease. With therapy and medication, that pinprick of light showed up in my day to day. After a lot of work, prayer, and finding the right medication, I can finally say those thoughts have been banished.

If you’re stuck in the dark of the tunnel, I urge you to listen for your friends/family. Reach out via phone call or text to 288.