I love my life, when I get to live it. I love good food, trees, and all the different colors that the sky takes. I love spider webs and ants and flowers that grow in the cracks of cement. I love the sound of hearty laughter, telling people I love them, and seeing strangers smile. I love twirling in the rain and making wishes on dandelions and listening to a song for the first time.
But life is also hard. It can be excruciating, even in the happy moments. It’s overwhelming and exhausting trying to exist in a society that cares more about money and social status than about people themselves. It’s a drama that often shows as a tragedy, and I sometimes struggle to make it a heartwarming comedy. I love it, but it takes everything inside me to be able to love it.
I have been battling depression for my entire life. Sometimes it comes close to winning.
I don’t like admitting it. I HATE admitting it. I don’t want people to know. I don’t want people to worry, or pretend to. I don’t want people to see this, because what good will it do for them? How will it help others to know that sometimes I just don’t want to live?
Most of the time, I’m okay. It’s hard and I want to run away or hide or just sleep, but I also enjoy things. Most of the time it is that or better. But then there are the other times-
The times when everything I do seems to make things worse.
The times when I feel like a failure, unworthy of what I’ve been given.
The times when I feel like I contribute nothing positive to this world.
The times when I believe no one but my children would truly be affected if I disappeared.
They are rare, only in my most painful moments. When I was younger, I would write about how I’d end it. I’d play it out in my head. I’d hold the pill bottles or the knife in my hand and stare at them. But I’d only take a few, I’d only slice a little, I’d do just a tiny bit of damage, then go back to my hell. I fought for my life when others threatened it and I never truly attempted to take it myself. I don’t even tell myself I will anymore (even if I sometimes wish I could). I fought it all and I will continue to fight. I’m still here.
And you are the reason.
You who love me, whoever you may be.
You who still lean on me.
You who are gone, whose shared memories only live on within me.
You, whom I have not yet met, but who will become one of these people.
I cannot bear to hurt you.
So any time you see me, any time you are reminded of my existence, I hope you’ll smile to yourself a little. I hope you’ll understand how important you are. You, just by being in this world, are helping to save a life. Thank you. Thank you for being my reason.