Recovery isn’t fun, but it is worth it.

As of now, I am in recovery. At least I like to think so. Looking back, it crushes me to realize that didn’t know I was suicidal. So much of my suffering was spent without knowing I was suffering. Well I’m glad I know now. To give more context, I was officially diagnosed with depression in around september of 2022. So, kind of recently. But I knew I’d been depressed for a lot longer before I even got diagnosed. I’d tried everything to feel better. I consistently exercised, had a good diet, straight A student, great friends, wonderful partner, and an amazing circle in general. Heck, I even took breaks and enjoyed alone time very now and then and also slept very well. I was still suffering. It aches my heart to realize I couldn’t do anything to reduce my suffering. I’d had 4 therapists prior to that and it didn’t really workout with them. They seemed to be showing pity instead of real empathy and one of them told me to go home because I was stressed. He suggested I drop some classes right in the middle of semester when I can’t. A man with a phd told me to drop classes in the middle of semester instead of helping me cope with pain in a better way. But fast forward to recently, I went to the doctor and asked for medication cuz I was fucking depressed. I would have consistent dreams of death, murder and homicide. But it seems that if you have enough dreams about death, you stop being afraid of it. But at the same time, the thought of living with a failed suicide attempt terrified me so I never had the balls to actually do it. What I struggled to understand the most was why I wanted to end my life when there was nothing wrong with my life. I also felt like I’ll probably be called a coward if I ever did the deed.  I felt like I would be a bigger headache for people when I wouldn’t exist. One of my biggest fears was to be an inconvenience to others. I’ve been eternally terrified of that which made me independent since childhood and ultimately backfired when I needed it the most. My family doesn’t know I was suicidal. I never had the ovaries to tell them I was suicidal as well. My ovaries took me as far as letting them know I was on meds. Even that backfired when they first heard about it. One of them thought it was worse than being pregnant. Idk what to say about that, but I immediately regretted telling them about it. Although at the same time, I was falling deeper and deeper in the abyss every waking moment and the hole in my heart grew bigger every second. Its almost as if there’s a vacuum cleaner’s vacuum force in your heart sucking the life out you. J K Rowling was 100% right about dementors. Depression is exactly like that. It has been a month and half since I graduated university. I feel a lot better (because I mean fuck hw and fuck college). But I was depressed even though I graduated magna cum laude. After spending time with myself in peace, I feel better and am in recovery now. Some days are tougher than others. But I think of the turmoil my family will go through if I stopped existing, so it makes things a lot tougher when you’re trying not to exist. For now, I don’t not want to exist for at least a while. So my thoughts of ceasing to exist are on hold at the moment.