The Day ‘I’ Died

I grew up in a dysfunctional family and that affected my life in many negative ways. I was a very unhappy child and I grew up into a very depressed young adult. Over time, I mastered the act of pretense. I learnt how to perfectly cloak my feelings so that nobody could guess that things weren’t right with me. I would be drowning in a whirlpool of negative emotions and I’d still have a huge smile plastered to my face.

 I punished myself a lot. I’d tell all those lies and when I was alone in the bathroom or standing in front of the mirror, the voices would come. They’d tell me I was a liar and I didn’t deserve anything good and I’d scrub myself so hard because I wanted to be clean and I wanted desperately to be good enough. Sometimes, I’d deliberately injure myself and I’d feel like I’d made some kind of atonement when I saw my own blood. I had friends around me who only loved me because of who they thought I was not who I really was. They didn’t really know me or understand what I was going through and I felt it was my fault because I was such a good pretender. One time, it got so bad that I decided I was going to end my life.  Some people say that suicide is a very cowardly decision, in that case, i was a very huge coward. I was too chicken to face my fears, too chicken to survive another day. I lacked the courage to face my challenges head on. I didn’t love myself enough to be true to myself. I went to the pharmacy and bought several brands of sleeping medications and painkillers. When I gathered all the drugs I had bought, there were about 600 tablets of different drugs. I knew that it was the end if I swallowed them. My spirit was already broken, my body only had to break too. Easy, right? Swallow the drugs and I didn’t have to bear the pain anymore. 

Different thoughts and questions started running through my mind. 

Would anybody miss me when I’m gone? 

What have I achieved with my life? 

If I die now, I’ll just be a statistic, a number among the numbers of people who committed suicide. 

Can I get help? Should I talk to someone before I end it all. Once I die, it’s over.

Are there people who have the same struggles that I have? If I get help, I could help them as well. 

Is death really the solution to the problem? 

You see, that day ‘I’ died. The selfish, cowardly ‘i’ who didn’t care for anybody else but herself. ‘I’ died to self. I decided I’d look for healing and I’d get it at any cost; because I had to reach out, to be a beacon of hope for others, so that you’d know that I did it and you can too. I survived and you must. You don’t have to walk alone. After all those thoughts and questions, some of which I don’t remember; I decided to get help. I spoke to someone whom I could trust. He didn’t judge me and he worked and walked through my process with me. 

I’m happy to tell you that I’m no longer suicidal or unhappy. I love myself so fiercely and completely. I do not have any desire to be anyone but myself, I’m comfortable in my own skin. Being truthful comes easily to me because I’ve discovered that if people walk away from you because of who you really are, then you should let them walk, they are the undeserving ones, not you.

You might be battling depression and suicidal thoughts like I did and I just want to tell you,  there is hope for you. You are not alone. I survived, you also can. Healing is available. Let’s walk this journey together. 

Please follow me on instagram @idonthidemyscars or send me an email at 

I absolutely love you! 

Don’t forget to like, comment and share this post. 

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