Six stories from our Atlanta community. Different ages, different neighborhoods, different paths, connected by the ordinary moments that turned out to be the most important ones.
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Maria · 28 · East Atlanta
2 years after
I was twenty-six the night I called 988. I was alone in my apartment with a list of people I thought I was making things easier for. The woman on the line did not panic. She listened until I was breathing differently.
“Calling does not make you weak. It makes you the kind of person who chooses tomorrow.”
David · 27 · Old Fourth Ward
5 years after
I was twenty-two when my older brother took his life. He was twenty-six. I have spent the five years since trying to find the conversation we should have had — the question I should have asked.
“You are looking for a math problem in something that is not math.”
Jasmine · 19 · Atlanta University Center
2 years after
“I have not seen you in five days. Can I come in for a minute?”
I was a freshman the year I almost did not make it to sophomore year. I had stopped going to class, stopped answering my mom, stopped doing anything that took more than the bed. My RA, who I barely knew, knocked on my door on a Tuesday afternoon.
Marcus · 16 · Stone Mountain
1 year after
I am the kid nobody worries about. Captain of the JV team. Honor roll. The one teachers point at when they want an example. I had not told a single person what was actually happening in my head.
“You are still showing up, but you are not really here. Are you okay?”
Sarah · 34 · Buckhead
18 months after
I am a lawyer. I run marathons. My friends would have told you I was the strongest person they knew. I almost did not survive my thirty-second year, and most of them still do not know.
“I had been so good at being put-together that nobody could see me unraveling.”
James · 22 · Near GSU
6 months after
“Help is not only for emergencies. Help is for being human.”
I am the first person in my family to go to college. I spent three years thinking the heaviness I carried was just what college felt like — something to push through. By my junior year I had stopped sleeping, stopped eating real meals, stopped texting my mom back.
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