A Story of My Death
I’m going to write briefly, and I hope that somebody in need gets to read this. Not that I point this writing to anyone.
Few months ago (or maybe years by now) something terrible happened to me. Bad things. Which I did not proud of.
It is hard to me to tell anyone, until I realized I am standing in the gap between my sanity and insanity — waiting to fall — I don’t know which is which. To be exact, I am mentally sick.
I took my time until I decided to tell someone about it. And apparently, my body can’t handle the stress. It caused my body to fever, about 41°C for 3 nights in a row. I don’t eat well, I’m not able to socialize, my brain is ready to snap.
I closed my eyes and just jump, I don’t know where I will land or will I land.
You see, when you have a problem (especially a dark one) and you want to talk about it, sometimes what hold you the most is not the problem nor the trauma. But your expectations how people will react to your story.
Will they still be my friends? Will they freak out? What if they feel scared of me? Am I disgusting? Am I still worth living? Will anybody accept me?
Believe me, those were my questions.
I choose to talk about it because I got nothing to lose, I already broken to pieces. Even if society decided to alienate me back then, it is easier for me to drift myself away. Like for example: to hell, because obviously — I’m not someone with heavenly material.
Nevertheless, when it comes to the end of my thinking, a desire to live came out of nowhere. I remembered my childhood, I remember my parents, my best friends, I remember people who love me. Yes, tears involved a lot.
My conclusion is I rather live with few people who loves me than lots of people who doesn’t want to be with me. And I don’t want to die of this. Not yet.
So I told my friends, which turns out to be viral. The next thing I know, I landed safely somewhere I never been. Someplace new.
How can I know? Because that day, I finally able to forgive myself for being weak. All these days I’ve been looking for the cure to something that can’t be cured. So in that old version of me, I let myself to die.
Not even the hour after, I saw my reflection in the mirror and found that I’m not seeing debris — I’m seeing storm. I am now the chaos of my life sequences. Darker. Wiser. Stronger.
I learned a lot from society — that it kills. Maybe some of them really rude and deserves to die yet some of them value me more than just a traits description in black and white.
More importantly, I am so much more than my mistakes. I should love myself than anyone. I should value myself more than anyone. I should be well. I should be happy. I will be happy. I am happy.
That’s the story.
While I’m at it — enjoying my happiness — I do ask my friend what is anyone thinking when I decided to tell my tale. The answer was surprising.
Some people DO have this opinion “Why does she have to make it a big deal? Why does she have to make revenge in public?”
I gasped. And then I found it funny so I laughed.
Just to make it clear. One, I never ask anybody to do anything about it, I even beg everyone I talked to not get angry on my behalf or do anything that might be regretable for them. Speaking of revenge, I already have my own revenge the day ‘it’ happened. It hurts thousand times than a punch. Wanna hear the story? Its funny.
And two, while the person who destroy my life easily walking around, laughing, without even showing a little remorse, I pray to God to kill me — not him. So I just sum up that people who asks why I should talk about it simply so innocent they never think of dying.
Last, since things happened I always get sad from imagining how many people have walked the dark path and keep their mouth shout because of society. Because majority tell them its a shame, and they need to shut up or because they fear of being alone.
If you’re reading this, whoever you are, please remember that having flaw doesn’t make you less the person you are. Plus, if you feel in need, I’m all ears.
Have a good day ☺