This is me.
I wasn’t always like this…
or I should say… I’m not always like this.
I’m not always like this person that “gives great advice”, that feels great all the time and is always wise with making decisions…. I’m not always so “happy, go lucky.”
I mess up, A LOT.
I doubt myself, I feel lonely sometimes… and I cry in the shower, sometimes.
I used to hurt two years ago, almost three…my body ached, and I felt heavy; so heavy that the simple act of getting up and going to the bathroom to take a shower was extremely difficult.
My days felt long… extremely long, and I just wanted them to end… all of them. My chest felt dark, very dark, like
In 2014, for two consistent months, I didn’t want to go out, or talk to anyone, or meet anyone. I hated everyone and the world for having them and I hated the place I lived in, the room I was in, and the body I had.
I hated myself and I hated everything, I just wanted to sleep, day and night, every single day, I wanted to disappear, to end everything.
One night, November 2014, I decided to end it all, all of it, the pain, the heaviness, the times where I was awake, I decided to end it all, I was ready, set, ready to cross over to the other side… I was ready to go, I wanted to go.
By the end of 2014, I took bad amount of medicine. . . strong medicine. . . not something you get over the counter….
I felt ready, I felt quiet… for the first time, in what felt like ages, I felt lighter, serene. For the first time, that night, my mind was clear, there were no tears, there was no pain, or heaviness, I was lighter than I have ever felt…I passed out believing I wasn’t going to wake up, believing that where ever I went, it was going to be better, nicer, with better people, with love and happiness.
I passed out believing I was going to wake up lighter than what I usually felt….
There’s this girl in my head that I’ve learned to tame over the couple of years since this incident, this bitch I’d like to call her, she hurts me, belittles me, makes me feel lonely; to sum it all up: she makes me feel like shit…
That night, when I woke up, I thought I was gone…until I realized I was not.
Immediately, I contacted help… and received them, though never professionally…
Honestly, I don’t know how things would be like if that actually would have happened but I now believe I wasn’t meant to go, at least not that night.
I feel lucky to be alive and wake up everyday now.
That night, I didn’t die, but a part of me did, a part of my life that I am very aware will not come back to me again…