Jun 07, 2012
I have been struggling with depression since I was about 13 years old. I am sure it has been going on before but 13 holds more distinct memories for me. I develop the habit of cutting at 14, after watching a TV show and seeing the act being done. It was meant to be a one time only thing, a test trial. Unfortunately, I liked it and decided that this was going to be my cure from now on. I never cared about hiding the scars because they were my way of begging for help. It was may way of gaining attention and for the most part, I was successful. After a while, attention seeking became over rated and so I began being secretive and that was when my problems started. I was embarrassed by the scars and did my best to cover them. After being attacked at home and going to school with facial scars, I was sent to the Guidance Counselor, my scars were discovered. She looked up from my wrist to my face and said "life=hope". I dismissed her mentally telling myself she needs more counseling than I do, besides there was certainly no hope for me. I was a pathetic, hopeless case. The ugly one who no one liked, the sad girl in the corner with the boyfriend who looks like he's crawling out of his skin to be with her. I was nobody.
Then at 17, my best friend died. I have never spoken about this in my entire life to anyone. I leave this out no matter what but today I feel like talking about it because I am trying to make a point. Times were hard and he was down on his luck so he decided to enter into a world of crime. He kept this from me because he knew what I would say and he knew he would need to listen so he didn't bother. He had a daughter on the way and he had no job and no means of providing for her so, he decided to rob some store. Little did he know, there were some cops right around the corner...he died on spot. At his funeral, he just layed there, unmoving, nonspeaking and just done...after all he was dead. They sung songs, stuck him in a wooden casket and buried him in the ground. That was it. Simple. He was Gone. We said our goodbyes, our "ashes to ashes, dust to dust" and left him there.
Currently, his girlfriend is working at a wonderful organization in the accounts department, she drives a fancy car and their daughter is attending a top notch prep school and just looking as sweet as he did each and everyday. And so I went back to his grave side, angry and irate and asked "what was the point? The situation worked out fine didn't it? and it probably would have worked out just as fine or even better if you didn't meddle. Now you are gone, leaving a trail of tears and pain for all of us. Your daughter will never know the amazing father and person that you are and have been since the say I met you." I left feeling down and sad and then it hit me, life=hope. He died and so his hope went with him, his girlfriend and daughter are alive and so in the face of future so dim, being alive gave them something he cannot have...opportunities.
My point is: for people contemplating suicide, death seems like your troubles are over. It sounds peaceful and you can rid yourself of pain. How do you know that you cannot rid yourself of pain while you are alive? There is a whole world filled with endless possibilities? I explore them little by little each day and can report that life isn't as bad as I originally thought. When you die, hopes, dreams, chances of happiness, goes with you. Why not try to achieve them? Why not search all areas until you have fulfilled what you want? I'll start. My ultimate dream is to love me. Love me enough to accept better, to feel beautiful in a flannel night gown, to tell all those of deem me to be inferior to f off and not even blink. To save my tears for the person deserving of it, to understand that the person who is deserving of it, won' t want it. So what do I do? I go to the therapist and take all the medication the pretty doctor describes for me.
Life=hope friends. Just a few words I'd like to share. Have a good day and many more after that.