For the past ten years, I’ve wished that I were dead nearly every day.
I’d have moments of light. Sometimes they’d last for weeks, maybe even a couple of months at times. Months where I’d be happy, where things would seem brighter. But even on those days, I’d still have preferred to die. I just wasn’t actively yearning for it, at least not as much.
This past month or so, I’ve finally gotten to the point where I’d rather live than die. Where there’s enough that I want to do, enough that I care about, that I wouldn’t really mind continuing to live for a bit longer…
There are still rough days. Rough mornings, especially. There are still mornings like this one, where I wake up with my plan back in my head. Where I wanted to try my last attempt. The one that I never got to try before. The one that no one had a chance to stop. The one that I know wouldn’t fail this time.
Where, when I wake up, I feel just as bad as some of my lowest points. Or, at least, the low that always came right before the lowest low.
But, there’s a difference lately.
Lately, I have a will to fight it. Lately… While I give in because it’s comfortable, while I give in because I don’t have the energy to fight back, while I give in because it feels like home….that little flame inside of me starts to ignite. It starts screams, “I want to feel better. I want to live. I want to travel… I want to see all those places. I want to learn all these languages. I want… I want to experience life for me for once!!!”…. instead of settling for stealing the dreams of others.
Instead of being okay with being miserable, so long as I know there are others out there living the life that I wish that I was living.
It’s so scary.
Because on these days, things seem as hopeless as ever. Then, when I start to think logically, they’re even more hopeless than before… more hopeless than when I was at my breaking point countless times in the past.
I begin to realize the severity of failure. I begin to realize that if I step too far into my goals, and fail, that suicide won’t be as easy. As guilt-less.
Right now, I’ve made it through so many years because of knowing that I have those who care about me, and love me, and because I don’t want to put them through that pain. Because I’ve known that I have people who rely on me for living.
But, as I continue with my own goals… that means that the weight of suicide grows.
That’s why it’s so scary on days like today where I choose to fight my depression, and where that little flame in me is strong enough to move me for once.
I’m so afraid of failing, and not having suicide as an escape anymore. After all, having that as a backup plan is how I’ve been able to move forward with my life up until now.
“If things go bad enough, I can just kill myself” So in the end, it always seems as though there’s really not that much of a risk.
I’m scared to move on to the point where suicide isn’t an answer anymore. To a point where I don’t have that option if things get bad enough.
But, I’m going to keep choosing this path as long as I can… I’m going to keep walking further down this road, and see where it takes me. At least, I’ll keep going down it until my body, mind, and soul have gotten to their limit again. I’ll keep going down it until it’s either too late to turn back, or until I collapse into despair the way that I always have.
I really freaking want to kill myself right now.
But..it is, sort of nice having that small part of me now that doesn’t want to anymore…
I want to cry.