Prison suicides: letter to the next

Stories and News No. 233

As all of you, reading the news, there are some that strike me more than others.

One of these is certainly on the suicides of detainees.

I do not want to talk about the bad conditions in the prisons, nonetheless it deserved much more than a single post.

I read that yesterday an only twenty-two years old guy cut his life.

It seems to be the 45th prisoner in Italy to kill himself since the beginning of the year.

According to the Ristretti site, over the past ten years in my country almost 1,700 prisoners died, more than 1/3 with suicide; that means more than 500 and less than 600.

The aspect that most impresses me and makes me think at the same time is thinking of someone who is already paying by imprisonment for actions that society has considered illegal and that individually decides to condemn himself the death penalty.

As if the arrest, the trial and the subsequent incarceration were not enough.

As if only death was able to pay the bill.

Of course, I am talking about his personal bill, because - I repeat – he is just paying the one with the rest of us.

This happens in a country where 308 so-called honorable guys - very well salaried by the people, made yesterday another crime with a bandaged face by a secret ballot.

It is not right.

I know that most of the time that is how things go.

Life is almost never fair.

However, I always have ahead an empty page and a full of words belly.

There I can dream to change the story with another one…

The Story:

Dear…

I do not know who you are and what your name is.

I just know that you could be the forty-sixth.

The next.

Stop…

Wait a moment.

I am nobody too, you know?

And believe me: I am not much more innocent than you.

Nay, I'm just a voice from the outside world, the voice of someone who was much better lucky than you.

Listen for a moment.

And during this time put away the razor blade.

Yes, that one you hold in your hand.

You have a sheet? A belt? A towel?

Whatever the object which you are about to kill your breath with is, get it away from your neck and please, give me a minute of your life, the one you just condemned to be the last.

I do not know how old you are.

I do not know you're young or old.

I do not know if you are young girl or middle age woman.

And I do not want to deceive you.

I will not tell you that life is beautiful.

But I swear on my life, even for a minute it can not be just beautiful, but wonderful and when you are in that extraordinary moment, you realize that all the time and suffering you passed have the worth of that moment.

Life is a moment.

I do not want to trick.

I will not tell that moment comes for free, raining from a benevolent heaven or by the grace of charitable humanity.

Sometimes it happens, but it is rare.

Rather, I give you my word that each one of us, if he sacrifices every drop of sweat, every heartbeat, every step of his journey to realize his aspirations, he is alive forever, everywhere and forever.

You will never ne sure of reaching the goal and the podium.

Moreover, nobody in this world is.

I will not say that if and when you will leave those walls you will find a sea of people to welcome you with open arms.

Perhaps, among many indifferent gazes, the day will come when you will meet someone that will love you; or just somebody who will hear your words.

Maybe a long time will pass before it will happen; a very long time.

But that moment, that one, will be your wonderful minute.

And as I said, it is worth to survive a life to enjoy that time.