It’s one of those nights when you feel so alone in the world, despite being with so many people. Isn’t it amazing, really, how out of the billions of people in this world, sometimes, there really isn’t anyone that really gets you?
I don’t want to act like I’m some oh-so-misunderstood brat, because I get annoyed when people do that. I get annoyed when people think they’re so special, their problems so elusive. As if they’re the only people in the world that ever get depressed, as if their sadness and problems are the worst the world’s ever seen.
I have my own set of unique problems, and yes, I look at them and think, they’re really not that bad. I’m not dying in Iraq. I’m not dying due to poverty or starvation. I’m not being abused physically or mentally (anymore, anyway). I don’t get bullied. School sucks, but isn’t that normal?
And sometimes I think, why bother being such a crybaby? I know my own problems are trivial, so nothing, really, (which is why I don’t bother talking about them to others) and yet sometimes they affect me so badly.
Lots of people are suicidal. I’ve been suicidal before. I was very alone and depressed at a point where I figured suicide would be the answer. After all, what really could be worse than what I was facing then? I thought long and hard. I didn’t want to slash my wrists (pain). I didn’t want to OD from pills (I might chicken out halfway). I decided on weed killer. It would be gulp, gulp, and then bye, bye. I was feeling depressed, miserable, alone and ugly all the time. I was so insecure. Still am, really. But we’re talking about then now, aren’t we?
I guess what stopped me then was my parents. Granted, I didn’t get along very well with them either. I attributed lots of my problems to stemming from them. Yet, somehow, deep down I knew that what they were doing really was for the best of me. I didn’t necessarily believe that what they were doing was right but I felt like, well, I guess the heart was in the right place.
Sometimes I feel glad I never did the deed. I recently found religion, which helped a bit. Yet sometimes, I feel like everything’s the same. People are all the same all over. They’ll end up disappointing you, betraying you, whatever. A few important things I’ve learnt is never to trust my friends. I’ve been betrayed so many times I can’t even count. It’s not even funny anymore. I’ve given up on friendship. Sure, there are nice people out there. But at this point, I’m so tired of trying to get to know people and having them disappoint me again. It’s really all the same. Someone you thought was a good person inevitably reveals his or her true colors. And what ugly colors they are.
There are times even now when I still get very depressed and contemplate suicide. I think, maybe people will be sorry now. Maybe you’ll feel bad now. Maybe you’ll try to understand how bad I feel now instead of always brushing it aside, instead of always thinking I’m crazy and demented. Maybe you’d finally try to get to the root of the problem.
After discovering religion, I don’t think I’d ever commit suicide. Not only that, my dad recently got diagnosed with cancer. It wouldn’t be fair to add on to their problems, to be the whiny baby brat that thinks of nothing but herself. So self-absorbed that she can’t see past her own stinky little trivial problems.
I will heal one day.
Further reading:
What are Emile Durkheims four Types of Suicide
