"Dying to Live"

I decided to intersperse some of my poetry into my blogs.

Back story behind "Dying to Live":

"You bleed just to know you're alive..." - Goo Goo Dolls

This poem sort of revolves around that snippet of "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls. It also stems from my own struggles with depression. Finally, it's an attempt to be the crying voice of every person who has committed - or attempted - suicide. Why would anyone go to such drastic measures? Specifically, why would one cut their wrists?
Depression often numbs you from the world; it blunts your emotions. There are no moments of extreme happiness, and often times, there aren't even moments of extreme sadness. Depression soaks up all your feelings, leaving you all dried up. You feel like you are just an empty waste of space, perpetually caught in a state of apathetic "blah." Basically, you feel like you are barely living.
What is one of the most obvious ways to know you are alive? Pain. If you feel pain, you know you are alive (unless you are paralyzed, but just go with me on this one). Maybe people cut themselves in an attempt to feel alive once again. Being in pain revs up the adrenaline, prompts the flight-or-flight response, thus intensifying everything - your senses, your pounding heart, your quickened breath. That'll certainly pull you out of your "blah." Additionally, physical pain has a way of trumping emotional pain. Obssessing over how much your life sucks, how heartboken you are, or how worthless you feel can be agonizing and, well, simply unbearable. Sometimes you'd rather someone punch you in the stomach, or slam your head against a wall - something, anything, to replace the emotional pain. Physical pain is a great way to force your mind to focus on more immediate problems (you're bleeding to death), and put those terrible emotions on the cognitive back burner.
With risk of getting too deep, I will leave it at that. Enjoy the poem. Comments are welcome.

"Dying to Live"

What if the very blood in our veins
Possess the
secret
to life, the essence of our
existence, the
end
to all strife?

Would we then not see suicide
As an attempt to die
But rather a
liberating,
courageous, though
desperate
cry

To release the
rushing
waves of
blue, for a chance to
feel the life we
never
knew

And as the pools of blue
spill
into red
We take
one final
glorious breath;
the most
alive
we’ve ever felt, but the
price of it – a paradox –
death.