So I kind of based this on my friend. I'm just going to warn you that it's really sad. If you are feeling like this, please, please get help. Reach out and ask.
Please.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Whenever people romanticize depression, they never really tell anyone that you are physically tired. They never say that you'll miss class because you don't have the energy to get in your boyfriend's car so that he can get you to campus. They don't tell you that you can sleep 3, 8, or 15 hours and you'll still be exhausted.
They don't tell you that you're going to impress your boyfriend's friends when you can drink a bottle of tequila and still be "okay". They laugh it off when you say, "I'm trying to fill the void inside of me" and your boyfriend looks at you like his heart is breaking. You didn't mean to, but your numbness was killing him.
Him and all of your family.
"Hey babe, I'll be back in a few hours." Olli kissed my forehead and closed the door behind him. It was only 10 in the morning, but it was a Saturday. Saturday games are almost always in the afternoon.
I rolled over, trying to get back to sleep. Sleep was just an illusion at this point. I didn't know why, but I was wide awake. I was wide awake and couldn't shut the voices in my head up. It just wasn't happening.
After a couple of hours, I gave up. The voices were getting louder and sleep wasn't coming any time soon. Getting out of Olli's comfortable bed, I went to the bathroom to grab my bottle of anxiety meds and headed to find a bottle of water or something to wash these down with.
The first thing I found was a bottle of vodka. "Good enough." I shrugged, taking in a handful of the Xanax followed by a gulp of alcohol. I finished half of the bottle before stumbling towards the bathroom.
There was a peaceful feeling that washed over me. One that would match with a bath.
I sat down in the hall, smiling to myself. The thing about depression is, it comes in waves. It was like a cuddly monster that kept you warm and safe. You didn't do anything. But laying in your bed and sleeping somehow made everything suck a little less.
I passed out after I took a few more drinks, barely conscious when Olli got home and found me. He was yelling, trying to get me to sit up. Wake up. Talk. Anything, really. The paramedics got here and I was brought to the hospital. I was going in and out, but seeing Olli was something that never left my mind.
His face was red, tears were streaming down. I was sure he was going to break my hand if he held on any tighter.
"Please, stay. I need you." The pleads went on and unfair hours until he finally cried himself to sleep.
I was trying to hold on. I opened my eyes and tried speaking. Still in so much pain, I couldn't get anything out. Or, not whole words. "I. Lo. Yu."
That was it. Those were the last words I spoke to Olli. I slipped out of consciousness once more and never regained it.
Romantic isn't him bringing peonies to my grave at least once a week. It would be him bringing home a bottle of wine and dancing with no music around us. It's not him crying with my family at a funeral, it's him crying when he saw me walk down the aisle.
There is nothing romantic about me dying because life was too much to handle.
