Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, only if we remember to turn on the lights.
A year and a few days have passed since I tried to kill myself.
This isn't going to be a happy post, if you're still wondering about it. You have been warned. All I can remember, since I began caring what people thought about me (maybe at six? seven? I don't know) was that I wasn't enough. I was smart for my parents, yes, but I didn't have friends. That bothered my mom so much. I was happy with my books, but everytime she'd speak to someone about me, she'd mention how worried she was about that subject. I didn't understand why was it so important... I was happy with my books anyway. I didn't fit in; I was too young for mature people, but I felt too mature for younger people. What I said sounded perfectly fine in my head, but as soon as I said it people would take it the wrong way. Then I began puberty. I started caring about having friends, and my looks were weird, and boys didn't like me... It was awful. I remember actually screaming the first time a boy showed interest in me. What a fiasco that ended up being. From 12 to 17, all I can remember is a big blur of awkwardness, frustration, fights with friends and family, and feeling awful about myself. I didn't know how to handle anything, I wasn't as great at school as I used to be, I couldn't talk to my parents anymore because all they did was fight me, I didn't have friends at school because I wasn't pretty, or cool, and people thought I was weird. I was also bullied a lot, not that you mind. I don't know what is it with boys needing to make people feel bad about themselves and mocking them for everything, to feel proud and satisfied. I hated every single one of the boys at my school. It was the worst period of my life and I don't want to go back there. Ever. Again.
As soon as I finished, I travelled to London, and for the first time ever I felt I belonged somewhere. Everything I liked was there, people didn't mind about you and left you alone, and I could be whoever I wanted to be and it would be fine. Okay, I wasn't glamorous, or pretty, or smart enough to be someone, but I could blend in just right and forget myself in the mass of people taking the tube everyday.
When my "adult" life began, everything was way simpler than it is now. Some hours of work, my first college classes (that were great because people were older, so I didn't feel like in high school anymore), and that was pretty much it. But I still felt empty. I started partying like there was no tomorrow, I kept fighting with my parents because nothing was enough, and I couldn't see anything but past my bellybutton. I couldn't focus on anyone else because I couldn't manage to deal with my emotions and my experiences. I started misbehaving, got a broken heart which lasted quite long, and started feeling more and more alone. My relationships with friends were toxic and self destructive... That made me consider the option of suicide more and more.Â
I've never cutted myself, so before I attempted it I took a bunch of pills which made me nearly feel nothing and attempted to cut my wrists. Because I was so high I couldn't do much damage, but I cutted several times. I also drank half a bottle of strong alcohol, and just like that, I went to sleep and hoped I never woke up again.
Sadly, I did woke up. The pills weren't strong enough, but strong enough to keep me numb even when I woke up. I took a shower just like every morning, and went to say hi to my mom (a thing I would never have done before), and that's when she saw my cuts. She took me immediately to the hospital, and then I don't remember much. I spent 3 days drugged.
As soon as I got out, they told me the only way I wouldn't end up in a mental hospital was that I promised I would behave. I said yes, and started seeing a therapist everyday. I hated him at first. I didn't trust him, I felt like a complete lunatic and nothing I did made much sense; that costed me a job. I would've quit anyways, but it sucked when they told me I had to go.
But then, slowly, I began accepting my therapy and (most important) I met the guy who I think is the love of my life. I didn't feel secure when I was alone, but when I was with him I could pretend everything was just okay for a bit, while I was in his arms. I still feel that way, and I'm the happiest when I'm with him.
Step by step, my life started taking another path. I got a great job, with intelligent and challenging people who trusted me and gave me the space and responsibilities I needed, while I was still recovering. I started a new career, that I'm afraid but excited about, and have long term plans in every aspect of my life: job, relationship, self-improvement. I cannot remember a time in my life where I was happier. My relationship with my parents improved a lot and we almost never fight anymore, I wake up longing whatever the day faces me, and excited about living in general.
So if you're reading this, for whatever reason, and you're struggling with being happy I tell you: Don't let depression and bad thoughts take everything from you in life. Get help. Professional help, if it's possible. Rely on those who love you. Don't be afraid to open up your heart, it's the only way you're going to heal. And it's a cliche, but IT DOES GET BETTER. If it got better for me, it can get better for you. Stop putting excuses and remember you can be selfish, you have to seek for your own happiness because nobody else is coming to save you but yourself. Be your own hero. Be the person your 5-year-old would admire, and be proud to say 'that's my parent over there'.Â
Life is beautiful. There is a million chances over there, expecting to be taken; you just have to be ready to jump aboard.
