My birthday was some days ago, now I’m 34. When I was 15 I decided to hold on for a limited time before killing myself, a time when my family would not be hit so hard by my leaving, even maybe my mom would be dead and would not feel bad.
That day that I had set for it was my 30th birthday. I was far from my family, in another country, cronically depressed, alcoholic, ready for it, wanting it. But, somehow, my family knew about my intentions and sent my mom to “visit me” for my birthday. Obviously I couldn’t do it, the love for my mom, for my family, for the guy I fell in love for in that country, all that finally stoped me. Many things happened after that day, now I’m back in my country, realizing my family’s projects, living for the fact that I’m here for them.
So I can’t stop thinking “was surviving the right choice?, should I reconsider and try a new date to leave?”
Sometimes I feel that love is just a jail for people like us, it scares me when I realize that I love so much I’m beggining to hate.