Chapter 1: The Unseen Beginning

My name is Barinda Asman Daniel. I was born between the years 1990 and 1992, but the exact date remains a mystery to me, for my mother passed away when I was far too young to know her face, let alone ask her my birth year. I am the last born, the eighth child in my family, but despite having a family, I grew up feeling alone. My stepmother raised me, though "raised" might be a generous word. She didn't love me. In fact, she made it very clear that I wasn't wanted, and my father, the man who should have protected me, allowed it to happen.

Life, for as long as I can remember, was marked by a sense of abandonment. My older siblings had all moved out, leaving me behind with my younger sister in a house that no longer felt like a home. By 2005, I was just a boy, lost in the world, a ghost walking among the living, unseen, unheard, and unloved. I started to believe my life had no meaning. It felt like I was a burden, dragging myself through each day with nothing to hope for, no one to turn to. I had been cast aside, and the weight of that realization became too much to bear.

One evening, as the shadows of despair closed in, I made a decision. I thought, if I couldn't matter to anyone in this life, then perhaps it was time to leave it behind. The thought felt coldly logical—why stay when no one cared? So, I locked myself in my room and reached for the bottle of poison that I had quietly hidden away.

As I unscrewed the cap and brought the bottle to my lips, I wasn't scared. In that moment, it felt like relief. I downed the entire bottle, waiting for the darkness to consume me. I waited for the pain, the final escape, but instead, I felt my body rebelling. A wave of nausea hit me so hard I could barely stand, and in my panic, I crumpled to the floor. My breath came in gasps, and my vision blurred as the poison coursed through my veins.

By some miracle—God's grace, as I believe—my brother was alerted. Someone had heard me collapse or perhaps had a sense something was wrong, but in my final moments, help arrived. I was rushed to the hospital, my life hanging by a thread. The poison should have claimed me that day, but it didn't. I woke up, groggy, in a sterile hospital bed, alive, but with no answers. I had tried to end my life, but for reasons I couldn't understand, I had been given a second chance.

It would not be the last time.

Chapter 2: The Struggle for Meaning

My story, however, did not end in that hospital bed. The despair that led me to take that poison did not vanish overnight. If anything, it deepened. I survived, but I couldn't shake the feeling that life was just prolonging my suffering.

(To be continued...)

If you would like me to share more of my journey, including my second and third attempts to end my life, please feel free to reach out to me via email: barindad9@gmail.com. This is a story of struggle, but also one of resilience and God's unfathomable grace.