The following article features mentions of suicide and depression. I tend to write blog posts when I am incredibly frustrated or upset. I have been doing well recently, which is likely why I haven’t felt inclined to write anything lately. The only times I have ever put a pen to paper in an attempt to start a diary is when I am in total distress. I noticed this after realizing I had started a journal and was frantically writing every day until I eventually stopped writing. It was all relative to how I was feeling in life. About a month ago, I felt extremely suicidal. After having abruptly ended a friendship while extremely intoxicated, I spun out. I was very emotional and had drunk large amounts of liquor earlier that night to discard any unpleasant, or rather, any feelings I was having. After my friends had left, I was alone and drunk, and all I could think about was how much I did not want to live. It felt like the world was ending. It scared me, I had never felt like I had reached such a low point in my life, and I was worried that I would do something stupid. I was overwhelmed. There were lots of things going on at this particular point in my life. I cried for a while and at some point, managed to get on my phone and miraculously call an angel of a friend. She picked up the phone, and I could only continue to sob. I felt ridiculous and incredibly sorry for bothering her. But she listened to everything I had to say, and I could not thank her enough. I still can't. I told her that it felt impossible to live, and she told me that she felt the same sometimes, but suggested that I give it two weeks. Two weeks to let the emotions run and set the feelings in place. She told me to give it time and said things would feel different. So, I went to bed that night. I woke up the next morning, it felt quiet and peaceful. I could only feel glad about the extreme decision I decided not to make, I don’t know what happened, and I don’t know why I am writing about this. So many things were happening at this point in my life, and everything felt impossible. But I gave it two weeks and am writing this over a month later. I am in a completely different place than I was last month. I hate being depressed. I don’t think I would have believed that anything would have changed for the better. But now that I am no longer currently feeling how I was, I contemplate what living life is really about. I often spend my days passively, and wonder when life starts to improve. But I forget to acknowledge that each day I am living and that each day life can be good. I just don’t know what I am doing and it scares me. I question my character and judgments, morality and values, constantly wondering if I am making right or wrong decisions, but I worry I will never truly know. I want to have it all figured out, but I don't. I recognize that most people don’t. Do we ever? It can be such a pain to live sometimes, but I appreciate all the beauty that comes with it. The strangers you befriend, the friends you love, the lovers you embrace. Life, to me, is about people. I can not enjoy my own self without the accompaniment of others, but I recognize that I, myself, can be as important to others as they are to me. That’s what makes life worth living, I think—surrounding yourself with people who make you feel loved and important as they make you feel.
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