Changing the way we View Suicide

I have come to realize that there are a lot of wrongful assumptions about suicide, or people who die by suicide. In some cultures, it is considered a sin, a crime even. In others, it is considered to be a cowardice decision stemming from anxiety about receiving help.

I am here to tell you that neither is the case. And here is why.

About a month ago, I struggled with a heavy bout of depression. The constant tear-filled, sleepless nights, turned in a feeling of numbness. I could not feel for others, let alone myself, and I felt myself slowing submerging into my own torture. I was selfish, but I was also lost. When I woke up in the morning and looked in the mirror, I barely recognized who was staring back at me.

Now, I never reached a feeling of wanting to die, but I did feel as though I could not do it anymore. It takes such a strength to hold on when you cannot feel anything at all. You want to live, but you forget what that is like and you want to smile, but it pains you to do so. Depression makes you want to let go and keep going at the same time.

If you have never experienced crippling depression, than it is hard to wrap your head around how someone can kill themselves. Before I, myself, struggled with depression, I could barely fathom the decision made by my father. How could he do this to me? How could he have left me behind? Where was my peace of mind? Believe me, I still have those days where I hate my father more than I love him and wish that he can really understand how crudely he broke me.

Depression is a lot like Carbon Monoxide. Both are invisible, and both are deadly. Both can start off as little problems, but then can quickly become suffocating. That is why we have to look at depression or any mental health related topic as disease. No one would say that someone with the Flu is crazy, just like you should not call anyone with anxiety crazy.

Suicide is not the first resort, it is the last. It is decided when your mind has shifted to this unforeseeable place that is hard to come back from. I am sure that my father had hopes of getting better, but was just far too exhausted to keep going.

courage does not always roar. Sometimes, courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day, saying I will try again tomorrow.