What It Was Like When My Mind Was Trying To Kill Me

Photo: TZIDO SUN / Shutterstock
depressed man

By Zach Adams

I started to feel that the light within me has dimmed.

I used to have such a more positive view of this world and my place in it. There was never any bleak look given when those around me questioned my future.

I had dreams and ambitions just like anyone else would. To go to college, graduate and become a young professional. Unfortunately, I just could not find myself able to focus nor have the courage I felt necessary to go on.

That’s the thing about depression: you never truly look at the positives of the future.

You focus on the negatives of your past and present. The future is something you question yourself on frequently. You don’t believe you’ll be alive long enough to see it.

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I didn’t ask to be born with this. It was never a choice of mine but it runs within my family for as long as I could remember.

Depression became a tandem with me. I’ve been witness to family members battle this, and some lost their fights. This war within your head can take its toll on you and the loved ones surrounding you.

Most days I can’t even bring myself to get out of bed. I lay there, mindlessly scrolling on social media or blankly staring at my ceiling or window. I lack energy to complete my days but somehow I trek on through work or any plans I have made.

It’s weird that you’re living yet wanting to die. Not a day goes by that suicide isn’t on my mind.

There were times where I felt the frequent phone calls home to my parents would be my last. The call ending would signal that there would be no more calls home. A feeling of betrayal would fill within me when I would hear my mom say “I love you,” knowing full well my parent’s love didn’t feel like enough for me to continue to live.

It was this disease controlling my mind.

Filtering everything positive out with negative thoughts; poisoned by my own mind. I only believed to have one way of fully escaping all my troubles.

Holding such a belief only engulfed me more into this darkness. A huge feeling of selfishness weighed upon my shoulders. How could my parents' love not even phase me out of feeling like this?

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I can build such good momentum for myself in terms of jobs, school, relationships and then in an instant it burns away. I never expect sympathy or pity from anyone for my misfortunes, but then I also do want those.

Anyone’s reply to my social media posts or texts about my current depressive issues would show me that I am cared about.

What is a cry out for help is often labelled as “attention seeking.” If you really look at it, though, it is. I want those around me to show they care, as in some sick and selfish sort of way of showing myself there’s more to life and that I am cared about.

The sickness of this disease is that it tries to isolate you. It wants to make you feel alone, not wanted...

Your friends do reach out to see you and check in but you’re at such a low level that you decline all invitations.

There’s always this constant support of hearing how “you’ll get through this” and promises of things getting better soon.

Often my potential for the future is disputed with me and why I must live on, but sadly those words never phase me much. I give a simple nod and speak with agreement, but I don’t agree.

This disease has warped all my sensibility to believe in this and myself. I’ve become self-destructive to most people around me. I’ve let my constant state of anxiety scare those around me away, including any women I’ve dated.

Depression can cause you to anchor yourself within relationships and give you this false sense of happiness.

Trying to be there for others in weird way has helped me with my own battles. We all seem to be battling something nowadays and I felt being there for others was something that could also help me.

The only issue with this was I tend to take on other people’s problems and allow them to consume and distract me from my own, making me one hundred times worse.

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I spread myself too thin. I don’t want others to ever feel how I do.

I’ve been accused of “glamorizing” mental illness because I often speak so freely and open about it. I don’t use medications as I opt to combat it through my own methods. I have nothing against those who choose to medicate. I have just never had good experiences with them myself. I have opted to handle it on my own through various ways such as journaling, meditation and I even receive counselling as well.

I believe strongly that there is a light at the end within the darkness of my own mind. I can live on, through a full life, and find that healing I felt I desperately needed.

Your mind is an all-powerful tool yet can be so self-destructive. Life gets me down at times but I’ve kept trekking through.

About 2 years and a half ago, I wanted to end it all. In a drunk-induced stupor, I penned a goodbye text and sent it off to my youngest brother.

I was feeling in so much pain that this was it, the end. Somehow in it all, while being drunk, I couldn’t pull myself to do it. I couldn’t get that image of a funeral for myself out of my head. Everything in my life I would miss, from the weddings of friends to even seeing my parents grow old.

Parents shouldn’t have to bury their children. Those images and thoughts kept me alive.

Living for something more. Finding a purpose within my own sadness for why I am to live on. It’s led me to really find my path in sharing my story as well as other experiences through writing. My outlet for dealing with my battles that I still encounter daily.

There’s hope for me and others who combat this ugly disease and I wish for everyone to find their light like I have.

If you or someone you know suffers from suicidal urges or depression, please encourage them to seek help and contact the National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255.

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Zach Adams is a writer who focuses on relationships, heartbreak, and lifestyle topics. Visit his author profile on Unwritten for more.

This article was originally published at Unwritten. Reprinted with permission from the author.