“I Want To Die, Please Help Me live!”

Words fail me when describing the day that I wanted to take my life. The very thought of attempting to write about that dark chapter led me first not to a pen or a piece of paper but back to those ambivalent and all-consuming emotions that I never wanted to recall; moments I wanted erased from my memory forever.

It was a season I would never wish upon anyone. It was one of terrifying darkness, insanity-inducing confusion, and utter hopelessness. Like a dark room in need of light; a thirsty desert longing for rain; a drowning man desperate for air; a prisoner hoping for freedom, I was dying to live but couldn’t find the will to.

I fell victim of depression. Not for a day. Not for a week, but for nine months. What’s worst is that I didn’t really know why. It consumed me to the point that I wanted to die. Yes, I wanted me dead. I really did. I sought no professional help, thinking my problem was beyond any repair, and I kept it a secret from even my own family. I didn’t turn to nor saw any credibility from my father who knew how to reproduce a child but not raise it; who was physically present but emotionally absent; who cared more about making money than creating memories with his kids. I couldn’t turn to my already-sickly yet workaholic mother. Work was stressful enough for her and her health brought about additional concerns. I didn’t want to add to it of course. I didn’t want to burden the one who gave me life with the thought that one of her child wanted to end it (not that it’s worst than my actual death). As I thought of my mother and how committed I was to taking my own life, I could only wish I had never been born. I wished I could just disappear both from existence and from the memories of those who might just care about me in my death. And my siblings? I didn’t turn to them either. They had their own interests and a life to live. “Why should I bother them?” I wondered. I couldn’t turn to my friends as I didn’t know who I could really trust, and who would dare care. They were young teenagers who at that age typically only sought fun and pleasure. I didn’t think they’d understand my situation or want to anyway.

Coming home from school one day, I opened the front door and headed straight to my bedroom, as I have always done. It was my hiding place. I hid there as much as I hid what I was really going through on the inside. No one knew. Not one. Only me, but not even I fully understood what was going on inside. Despite my secrecy, I wanted someone to find out. I wanted someone to understand where I’m at. It was as though I was playing hide and seek, and I wanted to be sought after, only to realise that I was the only one playing. No one was looking for me. “No one ever will, never mind seek to understand,” I said to myself. On my way to my room, I gave no notice to my dad who was by his work desk nor my sister who was watching TV in the living room. I silently passed them by. As I entered, I immediately locked the door behind me. And then that’s when the the voices rushed in...

“Just do it!” My mind screamed as my face crumpled in emotional agony. “I can’t do this anymore.” “I wanna die,” my mind continued. “I can’t.” “Don’t do it, please!” The other side of me begged. As I wondered and questioned my sanity, two warring voices battled in my head, convincing me of their views; each begging me to do or not to. I laid in bed curled up like a baby. In my uneasiness I swung from side to side. The volume of noise intensified. Caught up in the crossfires of opposing voices, my overwhelming emotions burst, expressing themselves in a seizure-like sobbing and a tsunami of tears. Emotions continued to surge through my body and the polarising thoughts that pervaded my mind led me both to panic and paralysis. I stood up. I walked to and fro in my room, pressured as though time has run out and an important decision had to be made. I didn’t want to experience more of the same. My muscles contracted in spasms. The tears kept flowing. The more I cried, the more I wanted to. Vividly, I remembered wishing that my tears would never stop flowing from my eyes. I wanted it to fill the whole room so that I would drown in it. I was yearning for the pain to end. I was so desperate to die my thoughts were racing to it.

In all this I felt lonely. I felt alone. I was all on my own. No one cared. No one would. No one will, I convinced myself. And worst, I came to the point that even I didn’t care about myself anymore. I wanted to get rid of me. The very thought of me was sickening. I wanted everything and any trace of me erased, not even a skin cell left behind. I wanted to not exist anymore. As a critically-injured animal by the road side is put out of its misery, I wanted to put an end to mine.

The weight has become unbearable. The pressure has heightened. Heading towards the pills, I made my way through death’s lane. By now I deemed life not worth living. At least not my own. The pills are now before me. It is within my reach. But for a moment I paused. I wanted to shed a few more tears, sob a little bit more, and whisper my last wishes and goodbyes for my family to myself. Having whispered my last words, I sensed a silence spread throughout the room. I felt as though a huge crowd of spectators watched intensely at me, gazing to see what I was about to do next. I held the pills in my hand and stared death in the face. In that instance, from the depths of my being I could hear an inner voice go forth, shouting for one last time, “I want to die, please help me live!”

Seemingly something in me still wanted to live. I wanted to let go, but something inside me still held on. It’s a strange and unexplainable feeling. However, overcome by the horrifying thought of experiencing another miserable day, I knew I had to go through with it. “I have to die today,” I said. “I’m gonna do it.”

Just as I was about to make my executive move, I felt a vibration on my right leg. And then another. The suspense was interrupted. My phone has received some kind of signal. I reached out to my right pocket and grabbed my device. I had just received a text from a friend who I had just recently met. He was new in town but settled in well right away, very likely because of his friendly demeanour and a welcoming attitude. He informed me that he was on his way to see me. But it wasn’t those words that hit me. It was the following text that he sent that made me change my course.

“I’m here for you bro,” he texted.

In a split moment silence filled the room. In utter shock and surprised of what I just read, emotions once again spilled over and the tears began to flow. But this time it was a different feeling. This time the tears carried a different meaning. “Some one cares?” I questioned in disbelief. “Someone really cares for me?” I had to believe it. I wanted to believe it. Aware that my friend would arrive soon, I cried all the more making use of the little time to be as emotional as a man can be in private.

The doorbell rings. I know it’s my friend. I can feel his angelic presence at our front door. I dried the tears from my eyes as best I could and brought back my composure. I pulled the door opened and before a word was said my friend leaned forward to hug me. Upon one glimpse at my countenance, he saw clearly that something was terribly wrong and he knew that a brotherly hug was what I needed. It sure was. As I ushered him to my room we sat down. With a concerned look in his eyes, he said, “bro, I don’t know what’s going on but I know something is wrong. I’m here for you and I’m here to listen.” My reaction found no place in words but in the fast currents of tears and emotions that gushed out as his words fell upon my ears.

That day my friend spent three hours of his time for me. He shared no words of advice but he simply listened to what I had to say. He listened to all of my frustrations, disappointments, and pain. In full view he allowed me to cry and sob like a baby without making me feel any shame. He felt my pain and even cried with me, shoulder to shoulder. Although he had to eventually leave, he left me with a sense of peace, of calm, and of love. When I thought the world was against me; when even I had given up on me, there was one who took notice. There was one who cared. Even one. And that was enough.

The worst day of my life turned out to also be one of the best. For it was on that day that I saw what light and hope looked like. It came unexpectedly, but timely, and in the humble form of a friend. When I wanted to take my life, someone was willing to give a portion of their’s. Life is more than the physical, life is relationship. We do not just exist but we must live, and we live abundantly when relationships are treasured and each life is valued. I learnt that I simply didn’t just want to exist. And in the day that I wanted to die, I wanted most to live.

Lastly, you can be a light in someone’s darkness and a hope in someone’s despair. You can be a listening ear to hear the cries of others. You can be the eyes to see their need. You can be a mouthpiece to tell them that they matter. You can be a shoulder on which they lean. You can be a heart to feel their pain. You can be a hand to touch their lives. You can be the one who proves that someone does care. Even one.

A good deed can be as simple as showing a genuine gesture that you care. You’ll never know it could mean life or death for someone out there. It certainly did for me.