Depressive lack thereof

When I was 19 years old, suicidal thoughts consumed me. One clear memory—I came back from class and threw away my knives because I was afraid of what I would do to myself with them.

During this time, I thought myself to be in love with a boy who told me he had no intentions to be anything for me. At that moment, he really hurt me. And a while later, his words meant absolutely nothing.

The thing was—I was never been in love with him. We both misunderstood my intensity for a love pilgrim when, in reality, l was missing myself.

Loneliness in aloneness

For me, loneliness was ironic and had little to do with other people and everything to do with my sense of self. Ultimately, the greater the presence of others, the more alone I felt.

See, I believe myself to be a multifaceted enigma. But even with that, there are things that remain true to who I am through and through. And every time I lose contact with these founding truths, turmoil boils in me.

At 19 years old, my turmoil was at its peak. Doctors were running an infinity circle in pursuit of the best combination of happy pills to prescribe me. All the while, my soul was screaming ‘find yourself!‘, and live in that, or I will end you myself. For what is a life if you are disconnected from yourself?

When I miraculously survived the worst limbo and darkness I had ever known, I realized how necessary my depression was. At its peak; at my ugliest; depression demanded I face myself.

How was it I thought this terrible experience was necessary? How could I be relating to the worst time of my life as a moment that happened to me to become who I was always meant to be?

Perhaps this is why death by suicide cripples me so much. Because I have been there before. I know just how dark it gets. But because I also made it out, every time someone kills themselves, I am left holding onto their ‘light at the end of the tunnel’.

We miss you long time ❤

If I made it out, why didn’t the next person?

I have so much survivors’ guilt.

Sometimes I smile because I know the darkness that comes with wanting to take your life. I can understand the longing for peace. And for an afterlife I do not know, I hold the belief that death is peaceful.

I wish friends I lost to mental battles had learned to live with this dark imprint that never leaves you. Despite its invasive petulance, I wish they resolved to live and rise about it. Whatever their aftermath would have been.

As for me, I am now sympathetic than ever. I sometimes understand what I don’t wish to understand.

The darkness taints you forever. You see it in others and you want to save them from it. Then you are haunted by not being able to save them.

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