Three years ago yesterday, I failed at trying to end my
life. The depression and feeling of hopelessness had won. I had given up. When
I took the pills, it was the quietest moment of the previous year. I thought
those pills were my light at the end of the tunnel I was drowning in. I just
wanted the pain, the struggles, the fear to go away. I was tired, very tired,
and I could not see any future for myself and I couldn’t stand one more second
of my life. But my suicide attempt failed. I was unable to achieve the peace I
wanted.
I have cursed that failure often in the last three years as
my depression has grown worse but I plod along, shedding many tears and
wondering why my attempt failed. Why am I having to continue to drown in this
grayness? What kept me from dying? I didn’t understand, and still don’t understand,
why I am still here. I ask the same question when I think of my cancer battle.
What makes me so special to survive yet the dreaded disease takes an innocent,
little girl?
It’s hard to live when you don’t know why you are here. Was
it truly to have my dream of becoming a published author come true? Was it so I
could go to another Daughtry concert? In reality, although nice, those are
petty things when I weigh them against life. The depression holds the scales
but it weighs things unequally. The depression weighs me down and tells me
terrible things. It is an entity, a new way of thinking about It. I am fighting
a battle against It and some days, I feel as if It is winning.
It has an army. Others work for It in Its quest to bring me
down. I once again nearly surrendered to that army this summer after someone
told me they could no longer be my friend because of my depression. That
incident, that battle, has weakened me greatly and I doubt the person knows or
even cares how her words, her decision, has brought me down even more. It was
the ultimate act of narcissism. Instead of being a supportive friend, she gave
her energy to the army so that she could be happier.
After that day and because of what she did and said to me,
there have been moments where I once again thought about that peace I tried to
achieve three years ago and I wondered if I had the strength to try and achieve
it again. But, ironically, the depression has left me weak. Too weak to act
upon that desire. And so here I still am, wondering why I am still meant to be
struggling in this grayness. I often beg the fates to show me just a glimpse of
the why so that I understand but my begging goes unanswered.
Why? It’s what we all ask every day in our lives. It is such
a simple yet complicated question that too often has no answer. If the answer
would be simple, then life would be simple but that is not how life is. Life is
complicated and messy and some people are lucky enough to know what their
reason is for being here. I am not one of those people. Why did I not die from
cancer? Why did my suicide attempt fail?
Why am I here on this planet? What is so damn special about
me that I am to see another sunrise or sunset, another cycle of the moon?
Why?
Dana
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