I always get emotional when talking about depression and suicide. My eyes cant stop crying whenever I heard stories of those survivors. I knew exactly how it feels to be a survivor. I knew how it feels like when you're pushed to your weakest point and the only solution you can think of is suicide. I knew the heavy cloud you bear on top of your head, how you wish people could see it so they would understand, but they could never see the dark mist surrounding your soul.
You're not alone. I can see the demon on your shoulder. Because I've gone through the same thing too.
I used to be suicidal. I used to think that death could be the escapade I need. I used to drown myself in abusive thoughts, wishing for my life to end sooner. But music found me. I felt the connection through those words. The electric feeling that jolted my mind and stopped my hands from taking the knife. I knew this suicidal battle you have inside you. And now I found another thing that keeps me alive, that is by writing poetry and stories about this madness running through my mind.
I am not promoting suicide even though I seem to be writing about it for so long. Maybe this is my way of expressing the darkest gloomiest feeling that is instilled inside me. Maybe this is the only form of suicide I allow myself to commit. But I wish I could reach out to people, I wish I am able to support them to keep on living.
I am not fully cured. There are days where I feel like I shouldn't exist and I cant find meaning to life. There are sleepless nights I spent thinking of ways to immediately disappear from this world. Despite all these frightening ghosts trying to lure me into death, I fought back. I want to see the sunshine, I want to feel the warm embrace of its shining rays, I want to go out and live.
People used to say I'm a fraud, that this feeling is just an illusion I created for attention. Some say I need help, I need medication for my sorrow. But I dont trust that a bottle full of "happy pills" can keep me sane. It's just a catalyst, and in the end I still think of all the frights I see in my sleep that drive me mad.
I dont pretend to be depressed. There are many factors that caused me to be this twisted person. These people didnt know me too well, they didnt know the suffering I've faced the entire time that leads me to the hell of madness, they didnt even know my real name. I dont blame them for that, I know how society works, with all the judgments and hates they spit out of their mouth.
So here I am, trying to tell people to live their life even though it's a shitty life they may have. Because you are worth it, you are needed at least to some people. Find ways to express your darkest thought, find ways to release the beast in you. One day you'll look back at those insomniac nights and think of how strong you are to survive such torturing life. Be a fighter, keep living and fighting for your own battle.