My eyes were always looking for a way out. Every car that passed me by was an opportunity to jump in front of it. Every wire and rope a possible way to hang myself. Every blade something I could carve into my skin. Everything seemed like a possible way out to me. I struggled with suicide for years. It was not something I felt I could share with anyone. Not something anyone could truly understand unless you lived it. So I cried into pillows at night unsure of my fate. I hated myself, hate powerful enough that I could snuff out my own soul.

The words courage and coward seemed to change meaning. I thought I was a coward because I couldn’t kill myself. Others would call it brave, that I had the courage to keep living. All I wanted was to escape. To keep walking till I was far away from all my problems, till my mind stopped bullying me. “To sleep and perchance to dream.” Like Hamlet however I was afraid of what dreams such a sleep would bring.

A warped mind is a warped reality. Trying to convince me to simply cheer up, was like trying to convince me the sky was red. Depression was my reality. It made up my life and was everywhere. The sad moments hurt me, and the Happy moments only reminded me of the bad. I look back thinking on how I would help myself and by extension help others in the now. I have no simple answer. Just someone to recognize my existence and an available ear goes a long way.

 

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