“Calm down. Go to sleep. Everything will be alright. You’re just stressing.”
These are the type of the texts that dart towards me every time I’m on the verge of ending my life. It’s definitely a miracle that I’m still sitting at a place writing about the severe stages and the times when, I almost took the most excruciating decision of going to sleep forever. It wasn’t my choice of falling a prey to depression or the least, Anxiety. I lost myself about a year ago. I had buried my soul deep into the soil, when some humans crushed it, tore it apart and dumped it. I died that particular day itself. Now, I’m just A zombie. Dead within, A walking dead.
Depression isn’t just a word or even anxiety, people aren’t enough aware about the depth of these most devastating diseases. It’s daft and dopey of people to have a perspective about someone just by observing their physical health. If someone is fit physically he/she is all well and good. But, hold on PEOPLE! Where does mental and emotional health goes? Burned? Nobody wonders how mental health of a person is most threatening or ill then just being physically fit. It’s terrible, horrible, devastating as a troubled mind urges a person to take their own lives. It’s far worse than acting young outside. There’s no discussion about it, anywhere around the globe. Concern is just revolving around petty issues having no relevance to this disease. Why isn’t our nation progressing? Ever focused? NO.
It shatters me terribly for no one cares about it, many have no clue, while some are just neglecting. WHY? All I’m slapped is with agonising silence. The most aghast part to it that even our parents have no idea as to how their children are dying inside. How those lethargic thoughts flow through their minds. I’m just one of them. The girl who ended up scribbling a suicide note few weeks back. I can’t substantiate any specific cause in front of someone for this fraught of mine. It creeped onto me, like sunlight, burning me to the core. It’s like I’m trapped and my hands and my feet are tied up and someone else is in control of my life. I’m just a puppet with hypothetical strings attached around my body and I’m being made to act the way those hands want me to. Something invisible crawling gradually on me. Few weeks back, I got so fed up of this meaningless life of mine That I took out a diary out of my cupboard and there I was sitting all blank and numb writing my note with eyes bleary with fray. After completing, my eyes fell onto a blade placed carefully near the corner of my desk. My eyes were just like those of an owl, all still, focused, analysing its effect on me. As if to get hold of it and step into the life I want. My feet all frozen. Metaphorically, I was just another person drowning, deep into the sea, like someone had tied my legs firmly with a rope down to a rock situated in the dark. Like someone had stolen my means of communication, my language, my words and I was a dumb person pleading for help silently. Eventually, No one came to my rescue. No one heard my pleas, struggling to reach the shore. No one caught the glimpse of me conveying a message; to grab my hands and pull me out of that tremendously penetrating sea. All I received were some vague stares. I was an object Of attraction, placed between inhumanity. At last, I drowned and what people frowned on were those blurred photographs.
Here I am, Completely mum and tight lipped about my despair because no one really accentuates it. My secrets, reasons, buried inside the coffin locked up and thrown over shore, waiting for an actual creation of God to put an end to all of my sorrows. The suicide note hasn’t been touched, it’s still kept folded and hidden in privacy from the world, from my parents. I sleep not for relief, but to close my eyes and never view the harsh world again. I just wanna sleep forever.
The only plausible reason, I always halt is due to the images of two most precious people, flashing before my eyes every second my minds run on the same track. I couldn’t step further, knowing accurately I’d break their hearts minutely. I couldn’t be an example of a flawless daughter they had imagined.
MY funeral after the heavenly abode will bring smiles to many faces,happiness into my lives, peace from my mistakes, silence after my destruction. I’m intrigued by pills, fans, blades, knifes, terraces etc. I find solace in the reverie of myself as a star , shining brightly, high above the sky, a star ironically my parents wished to see me as. At least, I could be one, mortally. Solemnly, I never expect a single being rushing towards me for assistance as it occurs out of sympathy, and I’m a bounded slave to it. I don’t crave for someone to feel sorry and pity for me. If there’s possibly and objectively, anything I expect from these humans is to peel me layer by layer and swim into this horrible life of mine to know the series of causes. The causes responsible for my depression. The cause an 18-year-old, wishes to stop her life. I’m not inspired by something or ain’t doing it out of attention as people like me are judged. We’re considered to be a commodity precisely, ‘acting’ to grab everyone’s attention, for some sake of trend. Around every corner in this world, there’s a person surviving with grave suffering. Deaths aren’t an issue of consideration any longer. It’s merely some figures. If I happen to be one in the queue, I’d only be regarded as an increase in those numbers. No permanent solution is in stock for us, to inspect it, for there’s no one to reach to its roots. Destroying and cutting the roots of a tree is simple, but planting one and looking after its growth isn’t work of an hour for it requires toil and sweat; which nobody spares a minute for.
Alas, I lose. Lose, for not bringing a change in the mindsets of people and their engagements. Lose, for not being able to create sufficient awareness about this perpetual disease. Lose, cause now dying isn’t even an option anymore ; It’s a decision.Bye-Bye.