Just Look

You know the feeling you get after you cry. When your whole body is numb with emotion. Your hands slowly stop shaking, and your eyes burn from the pain that you just endured. Your body feels as though you just swam miles upriver.

Your body is stunned, and your breath is shallow. You feel your heartbeat in your throat, and you don't see yourself when you look in the mirror. You see someone that is broken. You see it within their eyes. The pain that has cracked their very soul. You want to reach out and hug them, but you can't because that someone is you. You're the one in the mirror with broken eyes.

You are broken.

With that fact, not even the tears start again. You simply pick up your mask and slip it back on. The one in the mirror is now smiling, but you know who they are under the smile they wear. Like they always say, the ones that smile the brightest are the most broken. At least, I think that is how it goes because I am broken.

I am going to tell a story. It’s not a happy one, but it’s one that needs to be shared. Everything I am about to say is the truth.

My name is Amber Zajec. On Saturday, March 13, 2019, I left my house with the intention of learning how to fly. And when I say learning how to fly, I mean jumping off the Foresthill Bridge and going to a place where the pain can no longer touch me.

At the time, my sister had recently lost her boyfriend to a drug overdose, and I needed to be there for her. I needed to be strong. But I wasn't. I was weak and afraid and so alone. My whole family was there for my sister. They were there to talk to her and to be there for her. My mom would only ever talk about her to me, how she was worried about her, and what we needed to do to ensure she was ok.

I hate saying this, but I hated my sister. I don’t now. I love her. But I hated her then. She was getting the attention and help that I needed. I know it's not her fault, but I felt cast aside with no one to talk to. Drowning in a sea of dark emotions I had no control of. So I went to the only place that would listen—my journal.

Page and ink. Two best friends to a starved writer. Two best friends to one that has none. Two best friends to me.

I made my journal bleed in black ink—scribbles of pain and misery. The pages were water worn from the tears that were shed.

Here is a small piece of my broken words.

"I am a mess. My brain is full of stories and all incomplete. I am alone. I feel broken like a little china doll. Sitting on the shelf, cracked and collecting dust. For I am forgotten about. Everyone is worrying about my sister and how she is doing. But no one looks at me. She doesn't even know what she has. And she pushes everyone away. I don't even have anyone to push away. How do I make them listen? How do I tell them I am broken? Help me. Please."

This is all but a glimpse of what was written. And I apologize if this story feels more like word vomit than anything else. I guess, in a way, it is. It's my confusion about an action that I chose not to take. Anyways back to March 13.

The night before, I fell asleep soaked in my tears. When I woke, my body felt like it wasn’t my own. As my soul had already moved on, I was simply the walking corpse of the creature I once was. And I had the crushing desire to fly. If I flew, that pain that embodied me would finally release me. I knew of just the place to do such an act. In Foresthill, California, there is a bridge named the Foresthill Bridge. Trees and a gorgeous river surround it. It's nature at its finest. It's also 730 feet tall. So lots of space to fly.

When I left my house, I left with the intent to fly to a better place. One where I would be seen and heard. One where I didn't feel so alone and ashamed of my emotions. One where I could just simply be me.

I get into my car, the tears already lining my eyes. I drive in silence, but it's not as crushing as it used to be. It's like the silence knew that I would soon release it. That I would be free.

I get to the trial, and I start to hike. The golden sun is slowly breaking through the trees. No one is here yet. It's just me in the company of nature. So I tell my story as I walk to the bridge. I figured someone should know who I was before.

“Hello. I don’t know who is listening, but I want to talk to you. You don’t have to listen if you don't want to. My name is Amber, and I will turn 21 on March 17. I haven't done anything noteworthy yet. But I do love to tell stories. I also love to read them. They help me feel like I’m not alone. That if these characters can go through all that and still survive, maybe I can too. At least, I did think that. Now I know I am not strong enough. When I was a little girl, I believed in magic. Hell, I believed in Santa Clause tell I was 15. I believed that magic lives inside all of us. That the only reason that we lost it is that we stopped believing. I stopped believing, and I am sorry. You gave us this world full of mystery, and we abused it. There is a difference between living and just breathing, and right now, I am just breathing. Going through the motions of everyday life, for I have nothing. I am nothing. I hate the saying that you can just turn the page, but what if there are no more pages? What do I do then?”

I collapsed when I reached the top. The bridge is just in front of me. The beauty of the sunrise captured my tear-streaked face. Its fiery colors licked the tops of the trees. Birds dived down into the river below to catch the slumbering fish. The breeze carried the scent of pine and dirt.

What a beautiful morning to die.

With my tears dry, I stand ready to fly with the birds. But from behind me, I hear a rustle of leaves. For this next part, I can't tell you if I hallucinated or if what happened was real, but it's real to me.

I turned, and my heart leaped in fear of a person stopping me from doing the only thing that could free me. But to my surprise, it was a baby bear. His eyes find mine. They are full of curiosity and unknown adventure. I slowly sit back down and watch the small bear cub as he watches me. A larger rustle comes up from behind the cub and its mama bear. I feel no fear as I know she means no harm. She looked at me, and I can't tell you how long we stared at each other. In her eyes, I saw love and hope. A small flame ignited inside me, and I finally didn't feel alone.

I am seen.

The bears finally turned and left me crying yet again. But this time in joy. Because I was seen, someone saw me. And if I can, I thank those two bears now. I would. They saved my life by simply looking at me.

Thank you for reading my confession. And remember to look up. Look at the people around you. Look at the people in the cafe. Look at the people the ring up your groceries. Look at the people you walk past on the street. Just look. Because you never know what one look can mean to someone. One hi. One smile. One wave. We are all human, ingrained with the need to feel seen. So let's look at the world and the wondrous people that live upon it.