I've traveled through the depths of despair, facing the bleakness of my own existence not once, but twice. The shadows of depression loomed large, threatening to swallow me whole. Yet, here I am, a survivor of two failed suicide attempts. Depression isn't just feeling sad; it's an all-consuming darkness that engulfs every aspect of life. It whispers lies, convincing you that there's no hope, no light at the end of the tunnel. It drains color from the world, leaving everything in shades of gray. My journey with depression began silently, creeping into my life like a thief in the night. At first, I brushed it off as mere sadness, something that would pass with time. But as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, the weight on my shoulders grew heavier. The first time I attempted suicide, I felt like I had hit rock bottom. I couldn't see a way out of the darkness that had consumed me. Yet, even in my darkest moment, something held me back. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was a glimmer of hope buried deep within me. After my first failed attempt, I sought help. Therapy, medication, support from loved ones – I tried everything to claw my way out of the pit of despair. And for a while, it seemed like I was winning the battle. But depression is a cunning adversary, always waiting for an opportunity to strike again.
