Her dilated pupils

POP!

Eyeballs from sockets.

Bristling hair stands on end as she gasps

a sharp intake of breath.

Face ashen,

stunned by a burst of glaring white,

electric,

she is immobilised.

Paralysed.

Petrified.

Pained.

Pointed elbows move jerkily,

burning tremors course through her body

as she tries to break through the inertia.

Finally stumbling forward,

numbness building into disbelief,

she carries the new truth.

With the ghost in her mind,

she staggers, stunned, into the mist.

Dimness folds around her fragile frame,

enveloping like a shroud.

Surrounded by the grey haze, in the comforting cloud,

she wills for oblivion beyond the veil.

Folding herself small,

she chokes back her sorrow.

Dormant.

Detached

Disavowal.

It can’t be.

It isn’t true.

It didn’t happen….

…. did it?

Unable to hide, her hibernation ends.

Boundless questions of injustice

propel one foot in front of the other.

Still unbelieving, next foot,

next foot,

next foot.

Her feet gather pace,

as her mind begins to race.

Remembering their face,

her thoughts chase.

Death’s unjust embrace

cannot memories efface

nor affections displace.

RAGE swallows grace!

Uprooted.

Fists compress.

Nostrils flare.

Adrenaline erupts.

Contortions of ruddy rage

break all serenity.

Irrational thoughts

spark spontaneous flares.

Hiding the pain,

directed at others.

Seething.

Stomping.

Shattering.

Acrid sentiments burn her throat,

Bitterly choking her,

howls of indignation

and resentment.

What if she had done differently?

If she had been there?

Done more? Done better?

Been more? Been better?

As desperation burns,

her weary steps slow to a

drag and tap, drag and tap.

Twisting and turning,

slicing and swooping,

spinning and circling.

Searching for a truce.

Desperate to

return, relive, restore,

tentatively, she negotiates the path.

Vulnerability pushes her

to do anything

to stop the pain.

Helpless.

Hopeless.

Hurt.

This isn’t the end:

she can fix this.

Make a deal with God,

reform.

She dances forward,

weaving between present and past,

Promising to be someone else if only

Just one more…

What if…?

Dark shapes loom in the unknown,

waves roar,

pummelling her trembling frame,

the briny tang suffocating,

knocking back her feeble attempts to swim away,

Again.

And again.

And again.

Thrust into a churning cauldron,

swallowed,

reeeling in her anguish,

drowning until there is no longer colour

or feeling

or hope.

Into an abyss of isolation,

darkness cloaks her in a perpetual black.

Frail and slumped,

her hollow voice emits a hopeless wail.

The hum of distant memories

the only challenge to the void’s static embrace.

Memories flicker through her dormant mind:

the comfort of their cotton jumper

as their amber eyes dance,

the echo of their innocent laughter,

and the familiar, earthy scent of their warmth.

Her wavering consciousness woefully savours what remains,

grasping, desperately holding onto

the small dot of colour,

the life once lived.

Tossed by waves,

her face tilts upwards.

An orchestra of birds

dip their wings in the lucid flow of air above.

Lambent light reluctantly peers through

dim clouds.

The final tears of the squall gleam

as they fall,

and blue fades

as fragments of tangerine rays

melt into clearing waters.

Her fragile body is cradled

in the curves of nature’s gentle heartbeat,

lifting and falling.

With newfound strength awakening,

her limbs tense against the pull of the tide,

moving past the sorrow

and screaming

and blame

and silence.

Crawling onto steady ground,

hope takes its first breath.

Revived.

Restored.

Reconciled.

She acknowledges

a new reality.

A different road,

Not anticipated, not wanted, not chosen

– but accepted.

Grief and depression are not linear processes, nor a one-size-fits-all experience. They are deeply personal and unique, yet profoundly universal. In their lifetimes, 36.2% of Australians in 2022 aged 16-85 years were close to someone who took or attempted to take their own life. Grief is often described through stages like denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance; however, these emotions rarely follow a fixed order. There’s no “right” way to grieve and no timeline for healing – every journey is different. 

As Madison Beer said, “You never know the silent battles people are fighting, even the people you think you’re the closest to. You’ll never walk in my shoes, and I’ll never walk in yours, and we shouldn’t have to in order to empathize with each other.” We cannot always see when someone is drowning beneath the surface, quietly battling storms we never knew existed behind smiles and ordinary conversations. No two experiences of grief are the same, and we may never fully understand another’s pain, but empathy doesn’t require shared experience, only shared humanity. The smallest act of kindness can become a lifeline, and someone’s reason to keep going. So be the person who compliments strangers, who makes others feel valued and as if they belong, lifts them up, and lets them know you are there to listen or to talk. The world doesn’t reward you for being a kind person, but that’s no reason not to be one. 

We cannot expect to fix global issues like international conflicts and displacement, poverty, and biodiversity loss until we have a community grounded in compassion. Let that 36.2% become individuals who share belonging, compassion, and kindness. Be the person who positively builds another’s self-acceptance, self-care, and self-compassion. A supportive, empathetic community is the foundation for shaping optimistic, purposeful young leaders. 

Grief is not a disorder, and it’s normal to grieve and process change. By choosing compassion and kindness, let’s create societies where individuals feel valued and supported – societies capable of shaping the leaders our world needs.

https://www.aihw.gov.au/suicide-self-harm-monitoring/overview/thoughts-behaviours