What's Left of Us

Depression

I don't remember much of what happened, I just remember the feeling right before blacking out. Everything about today seemed like the same old day, waking up, going out, living, but it was quite the opposite and I can blame that on depression. It makes you feel like nothing in the world will ever help you to survive. Every moment passing is another moment that you're alive and breathing, but the slightest altercation can make the biggest impact. Today was the day that I almost ended it all in a blur of words, pills, and blood. Here's what I can remember:

I woke up like I do every afternoon, rolling out of bed figuring out what adventure or trouble I could get into today.

"Aye bro, what are you doing?"

I texted one of my buddies to see what he was doing for the rest of the day, it took a couple of moments for him to respond back.

"Not much dude, just chillin'. Wanna hang?"

He knew damn well I did.

"Hell yeah dude! Let me get ready and then I'll be on my way to your place"

I hopped in the shower for a good 20 minutes or so, feeling the warm water rushing down my body made me relaxed. When I was ready, I popped out of the shower, fixed my hair, threw on clothes for the day, gathered my things in my back pack and headed out the door. My mom never questioned where I went, only if I'd be home for dinner or not.

Are you going to be home for dinner or do you want me to save you leftovers for later?

Good question.

Depends, what are we having for dinner?

She smirked a little

Your favorite, pizza.

My love for pizza was almost, if not more, passionate as sleep was. It was a delicacy to me. I could eat pizza everyday for the rest of my life and never get tired of it.

Oooo I'll make sure I'm home in time for dinner then! You had me at pizza. Just text me or something when you're ordering or placed the order and I'll come home.

She nodded her head as I made my way out the front door and walked down the side of the road on my way to my friends house. I shot him a text letting him know I was on my way. The trip only took me about 15 minutes.

Hey dude! It's been a minute since we've hung out.

I always felt bad when people said that to me because it was mostly the case. I hardly ever went out, I'd always stay cooped up in my home where everything that I needed was. 

Yeah, I know and I'm sorry its been so long homie. I don't mean to be so-

He stopped me mid-sentence and explained that I never had to apologize for being a home body. My home was my castle, and I was just an introvert who was cast into the world by friends who wanted me to experience more than just the four walls I surrounded myself in. I did need it after all, my depression was closing in full force and as much as I tried to hide it, I couldn't. At least not to the people who knew me very well. 

After a day full of shenanigans and laughter I headed home to get some pizza that I was more than ready to shovel down. It didn't take long for an argument to erupt between my mother and I. Over what? That I don't remember, but it was enough to send me completely over the edge this time. Enough was enough and I was tired of the life I had been given. A world of people calling me "trailer trash" and being told that I would never amount to anything, all the lies I was led to believe over the years and all the heartbreak that I could never choke down. I briefly had a mental breakdown, crying my eyes out because I thought no one in the world felt the way that I did or would even understand me. It took a long time of back and fourth arguing with my sub-continence over whether or not I should still be alive or if I should end it right there, right then. I had a history of self-destruction and that argument with my mother led me right back down the rabbit hole I was so desperately trying to claw out of. I rummaged through my belongings to find a bottle of pills I had stashed and shoveled god knows how many down then grabbed one of the small pocket knives I had and began to dig it into my arm. Over and over and over, blood kept rushing down my arm as I pushed harder into my skin trying to feel nothing. Time seemed to drag by, were those pills finally kicking in? I started to lose feeling in half of my face and that's when I knew. I kept brutalizing my skin until I felt nothing at all. That's when the pocket knife fell from my hand, blood still racing down my arm and now starting to saturate the carpet of my bedroom, my head light as a feather as I hit the ground and my vision blurred. Shortly after I blacked out. Was this finally the end?

I woke up the next morning with my head pounding in pain. Where was I? The lights seemed much brighter than I remembered. 

Did I actually kill myself?  

If I hadn't survived then I wouldn't be here with you right now to be able to tell the tale. I indeed had woken up,but I wasn't in my bedroom. I was in a hospital bed hooked up to a machine with a drip bag. I assumed that's how they had cleared out my system from the pills I swallowed. I checked out my arms and the one I had been cutting had been bandaged up pretty well, but some blood was still seeping through the material. I looked around, no one was in the room with me and my belonging were no where to be found. A nurse had quietly walked in while I was still trying  to figure everything out in my head. I didn't remember what happened, but feelings of anger and disbelief started to flood my mind as tears silently poured from my face. I couldn't believe I survived, I was glad, but it was still fresh in my head. 

After awhile I was able to see my dad who had been waiting patiently in the waiting room to see me when I woke. His face was red and tears were dripping down his face. I had never seen that man cry in my entire life until that moment and I hated myself in an instance. He was glad I was alive, but he couldn't believe that I would do such a thing to myself. I knew how he was feeling deep down, he wanted to protect me and for a moment he couldn't. Ever since my parents divorce I felt lost and like I was missing a piece of me because my dad was the one person I could count on for anything. I wanted to tell him everything was alright and I was fine, but how could I tell him everything was fine when I was laying in a hospital bed and clearly far from being okay? 

It took a long time for me to recover mentally, but physically it took no time at all aside from the scars that would forever haunt me, the scars that to this day I try to cover up behind black ink tattoos. They are just another reminder of the time in my life where I almost let my depression completely consume me in darkness, but even in the darkest of nights there will always come a light. I found my light with my dad. I promised myself that no matter what happened I would always go to him or seek help with a counselor before I put him or myself through that nightmare again, and since then I have been doing well for myself. Some days are a lot harder than others, but I remain to keep a level head in fear that that day will ever come again.