9 years. 364 days. 

I turn 28 tomorrow and it’s been 10 years since the age that I wanted to end my life.

My birthday is important to me. Not because it’s my birthday,  not because I turn another number. But because I’m alive and stayed alive.

I don’t know how I did it.

Because as much pain I’ve had, the countless amount of times when I hit rock bottom and the many thoughts of ending it all because I didn’t know what to do…. I’m here. 

A couple of days ago: I was having a panic attack crying on my way home because I didn’t wanna make it to 10 years. I felt like it wasn’t worth it. My life wasn’t worth it anymore. 

It’s hard. 

Everyday is such a battle with my mind, with depression and with anxiety.

There are days when I become numb that I don’t feel any emotion. 

There are days when I feel every single pain that exists in my mind and in my heart.

There are days when I have to act like a different person. I have to fake a smile and put on a personality that is different from how I feel. 

There are days when I cry in my car on my way home from work. Or I sit on the bathroom floor of my room in the fetal position having a panic attack and can’t breathe.

There are days when I don’t care.

There are days when I am filled with so much anxiety and worry about every little thing. That it affects my mind when I’m at work, when I’m driving and when I’m in bed trying to sleep.

There are those insomniac nights when I try everything imaginable to try to sleep. But I end up just staying up because my mind won’t let me sleep.

There are days where I have to walk away or drive away because I can’t handle life anymore.

There are days when I think “if I just end everything then I don’t have to feel this pain anymore”.

And if you think that suicide or contemplating suicide is for the weak or are selfish. You have no idea the amount of pain that we feel. 

I had depression since I was about 13. I turn 28 in 45 mins. 

All that pain I had in those 15 years could cause anyone to end their life. 

But I chose to live.

Not for myself. For my family. For the very few amount of friends that I have. Because I didn’t want to cause them the same amount of pain that I feel.

And if that makes me weak for ever thinking about it, then I’m a weak person. But I was strong enough to not go through with it and live for another 10 years. 

Happy birthday to me and happy 10 years of being alive.


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