Hello everyone and I want to welcome you to this personal talk.
When it comes to depression ( or in other terms “The black dog”) there have been a lot of depictions of it in movies, music, and other media. Some accurate while others have been hated for romanticizing it. And to be honest, I only care about one thing. Depression is horrible. It is murky, dirty, and dark. And I have a love-hate relationship with it.
Yes, I have experienced it and I had a hard time typing this down since I was almost on a verge of tears like a child crying being scolded. And I had a pretty heavy heart when it comes to this talk. Was it because of my selfishness or my guilt? Either way, you can choose to believe me or not, I don’t care. I’m sharing this with unfiltered thoughts. If you can’t take this topic then just close this now and look back at this again when you’re ready. So just shut up for a moment, Okay?
When I was in grade 8, I had welcome the thought of killing myself as a what-if question. I had asked myself if what happened to me when I die. If other people would even notice me that I was gone. It continued on and in grade 10, I had my suicide attempt by drinking a mix of fluids.
Now, I wasn’t first in this family to have this. My mother had one when grandma died and my sister had one from all the stress and asthma she had. Don’t get me wrong, my family has been stable in other things just not in mental health. You could say that we’re both blessed and cursed at the same time. Like a double-edged sword.
While I was passed out, I had a dream where grandma just smiles and left me there as I called out to her in the dark. I woke up still in the emergency room and my mom standing beside me.
Why am I telling you this?
To tell you that there is still life after depression, that there is still a way. So put down your knife and don’t tie that rope. Calm yourself and breathe. You’ll get there I promise…