Andy S.
Featuring Andy Su
If you’re reading this, it will get better.
I get it. I know what it's like when your mind won't stop racing, when every day feels heavier than the last. When sleep becomes the only escape, waking up feels like a chore. When the people around you start to feel further away. Not because they've changed, but because you have. You're exhausted. You feel alone. It's not that people are against you. They just can’t see what's happening inside. And how could they? How could they understand what’s going on with you when you yourself barely know what’s going on?
On February 6th, 2024, my friend of 8 years took her life. When I first heard the news, I went silent. No sadness, no anger. Nothing. I felt nothing. Shortly after, I went for a walk. I don't remember how long or how far, only that I kept moving. At some point, I ended up in my friends' dorm room. The moment I walked in, they pulled me into their arms. I clung onto each of them, but I didn't say a word.
A few days passed. I went to class, hung out with friends, and hit the gym. Everything looked normal from outside. But I still felt stuck. The days kept moving, but I didn’t. And it kept getting worse.
A few weeks later, one of my closest friends betrayed me, using my vulnerability against me when I was at my lowest. My family called with gut-wrenching news about someone I loved. Each new blow felt like another shackle chaining me down. I started skipping classes. When friends invited me out, I'd make excuses so I could stay in bed. The world kept moving, but I hadn’t been able to move since that day.
Then one night, I was at my friend's house. My thoughts were louder than usual and the room felt suffocating. I couldn't sit still anymore, and I left without saying a word. Eventually, I found myself at the top of a parking garage, wanting to get a better view of the Dallas skyline. After walking around the parking lot, I found a ledge that would give me the best view. Climbing up, I stared at the skyline. I peered over the edge, looking down at the concrete pavement 50 feet below me. Then a thought crept in, one that terrified me. What was she thinking in those final moments? I've been struggling too. Would this be enough? My vision blurred, and I couldn’t see straight anymore. I cried. I don’t know for how long, but the tears didn’t seem to stop. I was horrified. Not just by the thought, but by how easy it would be to understand it. I stumbled off the ledge, my legs giving out as I slid down the wall, yearning for this feeling to go away.
Then I felt the arms around me. Someone pulled me close, and, almost instinctively, I buried my head in their shoulder. I heard more voices, familiar ones, that surrounded me. My friends found me. Some I’d been with earlier. Others came the moment they heard I was missing. I thought I was completely alone. I thought no one could see me.
I was wrong.
They didn't lecture me. No one was upset. They sat with me on that concrete floor until I could breathe again. Some of them knew what was happening in my life. Others didn't. But they still sat with me. And in the days that followed, they kept showing up. I was never alone unless I asked to be.
But that didn’t mean everything was suddenly fixed. I didn’t get better overnight. Sometimes, it felt like I was using all my strength just to get out of bed. But slowly, that weight started to feel lighter. Not because the pain went away, but because I stopped trying to carry it by myself.
I was lucky. My friends saw the signs and came looking for me. But I know not everyone has that. Sometimes you think you're invisible, but people notice. Other times, you really are suffering alone, and no one knows. Either way, you have to speak up.
Reach out, even when you don’t want to. Even when you’re convinced, you’ll be a burden. You won’t be. The people who care about you are waiting to help, but only if you let them.
If you’re reading this, I need you to know something: It will get better. Those mixed feelings of hopelessness, dread, and exhaustion are important. They don’t last forever. And you’re never alone. Even when it feels like it. Reach out to your friends. If you don't have friends, reach out to your family. If you don't have a family, call a helpline. Reach out to me if you have to.
There’s a Swedish saying: “A joy shared is a joy made double; a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved.” You don’t ever have to carry this alone. Lean on the people who care about you and let them help you shoulder the weight. Because the truth is, the world keeps moving. But you don't have to move through it by yourself. Sometimes you just need someone to sit with you until you're ready to stand again.
Andy S., Southern Methodist University
Connect With Us
To follow IfYoureReadingThis at SMU on Instagram, get in touch with our chapter, and learn about more resources available to SMU students, visit our chapter’s homepage.