The first time I told someone I was going to kill myself I was 14 years old. I was talking to my therapist. I went to acute care that night. Before I left she held my hand, looked me in the eyes, and promised that I would find light again in the midst of the darkness.
There were months at a time where I felt there had been some glimpse of a light at the end of some darkness, but I could never hold on to it for long enough. I would fall into what I call “ditches”, which were periods of a depressed fog that I had no idea how to get rid of.
Eventually, I was exhausted. A component keeping me from speaking out about my returned depression was the knowledge that even if I got out of the darkness that time, it would always come back, for the rest of my life. I did not want to get better because I knew I would get sick again, I just wanted to die and stop wasting time.
I am constantly aware of my existence, and remaining vocal about my fear that the darkness will set in again. I am hopeful that my depression will never get as bad as it once was again, but I am sure there is darkness in store ahead. I write about my existence and appreciate it everyday. The best part about this blog is that incase I fall again, I have something that I wrote from my heart.