The Day I Decided to Live

May be triggering to some. Though, I remain unapologetic for depressing details. Sometimes a story is meant to be told simply because it happened. I hope through my trials and efforts I can inspire others to try. Just keep your chin up.

 

Don’t ever believe it when neurotypicals when they say happiness is easy, ya know, just don’t think so hard. Get over it. Have you thought about your diet? It affects your energy, ya know?

I have battled mental illness since I was very very young. First manifesting as severe anxiety and self harm at 12 and furthering in aggression and severity as I got older. My downfall was inevitable, but my growth is surprising.

2 years ago I was coming off of drugs, I had a serious drinking problem, I had no car, and had just left a very unhealthy and toxic relationship, all while my mental illness reared its monstrous head. I had no idea what I was dealing with at the time or just how seriously fucked up I had become. Self harm, panic attacks, paranoia, but mostly hopeless that I’d never life a happy life.

I remember weeping in the shower, mid sunny day, nothing mattered anymore because the sadness that made it’s home in bones was unbareably heavy. I had depleted any hope I had left. I had lost my fucking mind and any glimpse of joy one could muster had left me a long time before. I saw no light anymore. So, I took a razor to my wrists that day and lost control. Leaving carvings up and down both my of arms, at 20 I was wearing long sleeves in the summer.  Tryin to put on the best front that I was okay. It was the last time I self harmed.

I made a promise to myself that day that if I still felt so empty and so numb.. if I still saw no glimpse of life or hope in my eye.. If depression still mastered my soul by 25 I would allow myself the most selfish relief and I would take my life. I would stop the pain. That promise changed my life, simply because it scared the shit out of me. I wasn’t ready to die, but I knew I had the will to take my life if the time came.

The promise insued that I give it my one last all. Then I could say I had tried my best and my mom would know I gave it my all.

I wasn’t ready to die. I just really wanted to live. So why, was I living this life feeling so damn dead all the time?

So I put in work. And a LOT of it. I challenged my self, I started talking again, looking for my passions, reading, drawing, FORCING my self out of bed to accomplish even one goal, even if that one goal was laundry. I built my self esteem up from rock bottom. I stopped dressing in baggy clothes that I thought hid my despair. I stopped allowing fear to take the wheel. I put in work to find my inner courage. I fed the fire within my soul.

That’s what worked for me. I found my strength and my path. I worked to replace negative thoughts with positive ones. To challenge my anxiety. And the point of this being that it’s possible. And no one is alone. That sometimes rock bottom may be what catapults you from your despair.

To this day, I can sleep for days for the energy I put into living a life I’m proud to stay alive for. It’s not easy, I would never lie and say that I don’t get tired. But now that I have tasted mental success I will always work for it. And if I could tell my story and inspire one person to just try for one more day, stand barefoot in moss, one more time. I think my misery was worth something.

So don’t ever let neurotypicals tells you it’s easy, to this day I can’t stand sometimes, to this day my demons beckon me to lay down and end it all. But I won’t let them take me. I have shit to do.

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