Posted at 11:39 PM 0 comments (+) It doesn't even scare me anymore, the thoughts I have about leaving. In fact, the entire thought process that stems from just one thought is so fast that next thing I know, I'm already contemplating an appropriate date.

A close friend of an online friend took her life over the weekend. It made me wonder why it seems so easy for others. I have so many points of consideration, so much thinking about how to make it successful and perfect.

Sometimes I get visions of myself, fueled by 20 seconds of insane determination, charging to the open kitchen window and just leaping right out of it. It doesn't scare me. What scares me is failing. I am so afraid of actually trying and failing. I cannot fail.

I have read about a million articles from various sources about depressives and what they can do to slowly recover. But I can't say I even want to get better. It isn't about feelings of alienation, or being afraid of the stigma of being labelled a depressive. I couldn't care less about what people want to think about me being depressed. I couldn't even care less about what my friends or family might feel after I leave. It might be selfish, but I have dealt with my share of pain, and now you can deal with yours.

Above all, I know that time numbs all wounds. In a matter of weeks, months, eyes would be dry and hearts will stop hurting. In maybe a year, I would stop coming up in your conversations whenever you would meet. Thoughts of me will be vacant from your minds, and all will be back to the way they always were, with or without me.

People always say they do not understand why someone choose to off themselves, that they are so confused. But are you really? The pain was always there, you just chose to stay blind to it.

I have tried reaching for your hands so many times, tried screaming for somebody to save me so many times that I have eventually stopped, and now I don't even hold my hand out when you're the ones reaching in, I don't even utter a word anymore.

You see the mere thought that I have to bear the weight of this life for even six more months, a year, makes me want to fall to the floor and cry. This is really not where I want to be. But where can I go? What else can I be? Where can I sleep easy? With no guilt and just peace?

I have long since lost hope that things will ever get better. I am always fighting against the tide, hoping that I will always have enough strength to swim against it whilst keeping my head above the water. Never knowing when is the day I would actually lose and be swept under the darkness. I am gripping on to the last strand of my willpower so tightly I have left claw marks on my palms. But often, at the end of it, I still don't know what was the point of holding on.

There is nothing left in this life for me. No matter how many different avenues I try to explore, try to postulate, create a mental flow chart of If A, then B, it never ends anywhere I think I might want to be. It never even goes anywhere.

The thought of living such a life is unbearable.

Yes, life is not all bad. I do still have joyful moments; moments when I'm thankful I am still alive to experience it. Especially when I come across good books, good movies, good music, and having an open, honest conversation with people whom I care about. But does that make it enough? Hardly. The despair and hopelessness far, far outweighs any joy I can feel in this world.

Because while these serve as fleeting, temporary relief, pain is the constant.

It is a matter of time.