the story of hope

i don’t talk about this often but for the most part, i spend the majority of my time being suicidal. if it were not for the hopeful and possibly life-changing prospect of university as well as my job; i can guarantee you i would have done something by now.

after graduating school at 16, i thought that things would start to get better; that i would be even slightly happier than i was before. at first, it would seem that my assumptions were right, that maybe my life doesn’t suck as badly as i thought it did. sure, i was lonely and depressed but i found purpose in my studies. despite feeling incredibly suicidal back then, i was able to motivate myself to get out of bed long enough to enjoy learning and then go back to sleep. for me, being 17 consisted of a crap ton of studying because it was the only thing that made me happy when everything and everyone sucked the joy out of my soul. then i turned 18 and boy, did things take a nosedive. one day i just stopped finding learning fun and that was when things got dangerous. as a result of not caring and depression, i made several bad decisions; many of which i wish i could take back. at that point, nothing mattered anymore because 7 months had gone by and i had not done any revision for the upcoming exams. if you asked me, i was a lost cause. on top of that, i had accidentally uncovered childhood trauma which as we all know is great no matter the situation. i mean, i love dissociating in class and having my teachers mistake it for me not paying attention. of course, nowadays my ptsd symptoms just casually barge into my life and turn my whole world upside down which just adds to how much pain i’m in.

when all you’ve known your whole life is agony, you begin to question why you are born. when your own parents tell you that you are not wanted, you begin wondering whether your existence is a mistake or not. when you keep being hurt, betrayed and let down over and over again; you start thinking about what keeps you going. i used to have hope; used to believe that there was more to life than being condemned to exist inside in a body that is exhausted and a mind that is broken. things are different now, i rarely see hope and even when she comes by it’s only to remind me that i can never hold her again like i used to. is it so bad to wake up and want to live? is it so terrible to want to breathe and not have it be so heavy like a rock on my chest? is it so detestable to want to believe in god again?