Is this where it ends?

I’ve had so many conversations about suicide with friends and family, most follow the line of “I could never do that.”, “How could you ever want to end life?” Yet I wake up nearly everyday and my initial thought is – I have been squandering my years on earth. I often think, someone who didn’t get the chance to live should have my time. There has to be someone who deserves it more, who would appreciate it more and cherish the time they had with people who cared about them. Every year on my birthday I wonder why I am celebrating. Not to induce sympathy. I am celebrating a birth that brought tremendous anguish, pain and life disruption to my parents. I sit here as I type this and fear people will think I am seeking sympathy and I am not. I don’t feel sorry for myself, I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. To be given up for adoption is unimaginable – not knowing the feeling myself. Belonging and wanting to know  your story I feel (I am not claiming I know) is human nature. I know my story. It haunts my every breath and movement. My mother became pregnant with me at age 17 and my father pleaded with her to give me away but my grandmother intervened. My grandmother raised me until I turned 18 and went off to college. She passed away halfway through my freshman year and I have felt lost ever since. On the day of her funeral I felt like an orphan. I don’t expect people to understand. I have never shared anything like this. I know people have it much worse. I just needed to open up my heart.