"I'm not enough, I'm not worthy, I'm a mistake. My friends don't love me. My family doesn't appreciate me. I can't do anything right. I'm a mess. The world would be better a place without me. I need to kill myself. I'm obligated to commit suicide.” These are just some of the thoughts that played in my mind for three days straight while I was lying alone in my bed.
I had people around me, but it wasn't enough. I kept myself in the dark. Help was right in front of me, but I didn't accept it. At that point, no one can save you. I had everything anyone could need to be happy, but I didn't value it enough. I had all these amazing things, but when I looked at myself in the mirror, I just saw a blurred version of myself.
Help was vital. I was sick. Not just mentally, but I also had an illness that fucked me up physically. I had no energy, slept more than usual and had constant headaches for three weeks. I set an appointment at the hospital to see what could be done about the illness. It may seem irrational, and it was, but I was determined to commit suicide if they couldn’t find out what was wrong with me.
At the hospital, the nurse asked me how I was doing. I have no clue why, but I said, ”I'm depressed.” Her eyebrows shot up. ”What?! That's not why you're here?" I couldn't hold back my tears any longer. I reveled my feelings and plans. I was saved. I accepted my condition and got sent straight to the psychiatric emergency department.
After that, I found myself determined to stay alive. Today I’m on pills and will likely be diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I feel scared, but confident that I will find a way of living with it. So far, I’ve found it so empowering to share my story and give hope to others in similar experiences of pain. My instagram, www.instagram.com/thedepressed1, is where I fight to #KillTheTaboo of mental illness and spread awareness.
Keep fighting for a better story. You deserve it.