I am a warrior. My heart jumps with pride when i type this sentence. I am fighting a battle. Sure the battle is excruciatingly painful, winning the battle is not an option, because i know it cost my life, not because the battle is fought with a landlord who would kill me if i lost, but because it is fought with the most gruesome yet the most enduring person i know, Myself.
I remember thinking dying would ease away the pain that i was going through; it would take me to a better place where no longer will I have to bear it or maybe my existence would come to an end…I needed an escape..suffocating myself seemed to be the only way to breathe..living with depression was like being drunk all the time..I called the normal me, the sober me and times when depression demanded to be drunk, well it was the drunk me..the sober me was this cheerful yet rude person who made fun of everything…she bullied the drunk me..she said I was an attention whore, that my only problem was that I needed people to notice me..but does wanting attention make you a whore? i wanted someone to understand me..I wanted anyone to acknowledge want I was going through..I needed a support, me being not much of talking person decided to keep it a secret and whenever I started giving a hint of me being not okay the voice inside my head started saying that i was seeking attention and i obeyed them and never spoke a word about the voices that ruled my existence..I used to talk to myself and everyday when I go to sleep i pleaded and prayed that I do not wake up but that never seemed to happen..Every dawn had a mysterious hand that was keen on giving me my daily dosage of depression and this thing always made me cry for no peculiar reason i used to cry like I lost someone dear to me but i never had any reason to cry maybe that was like you vomit when you drink too much of alcohol and you cry for no reason when you drink too much of depression. I used to leave notes for the depressed me when my mood was fine..I sometimes wrote loving notes like I am more than all this and reminding myself to distract me and things of that sort and sometimes i wrote my daily schedule to keep me engaged, it did help me a little bit, i was getting better..I thought depression couldn’t take over me any more, it seems that i was wrong, like most of the time;I guess i was punished for trying to beat depression; he took a much more majestic form and among the things that he did to me, he reflected his expertise on my dictionary, ran his notorious fingers over the half spoiled dictionary and the words changed their meanings; for instance sober meant depression and intoxicated meant “I’m fine” and also this guy has this rehab program that is doing exceptionally well..and i am hardly ever intoxicated now..I keep fighting my emotions..I will not let him win..
I WILL STAY ALIVE.