When I was 14, I was so broken hearted, I took a knife and I was ready to plunge it in my pulse. If it wasn’t for my best friend, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me. Now, that I think about it, I’m so embarrassed I can’t even complete the flashback. Thinking about attempting suicide because of a break-up, I was really immature and foolish. It was a shallow thought. To think that the pain I had that time was nothing compared to what I had when my mom left to go overseas for work, the pain I had when I was being bullied by the whole class. There were a lot of deeper reasons, but what I had was a foolish one.
As I was growing up, I realize that being in a relationship was not a mandated matter in life. Back then, I thought I can never be happy being single. But I survived. I survived the college life being single and I made it.
But here’s the thing, I held the razor once again, for so many times during college and I don’t know why.
I certainly knew that love or relationship wasn’t the culprit. I had bigger issues then. It was just a simple procrastination of doing some school works that turned into a big mess. I was accused by something that I didn’t do and suffered the consequences without having the right to explain myself. The thought of disappointing my parents consumed me. All my life, I know I made them proud with all the achievements that I have. But it was the first time I disappointed them.
I couldn’t face my father without thinking how I took his efforts for granted by being lazy and relaxed all the time. I couldn’t answer my mom’s calls without thinking how I wasted all the sacrifice she had done so that I could finish my college on time. Even my grandmother was crying beside me, asking me what’s wrong but I can’t even speak a word because I was so afraid that if I were to tell her everything, it’ll break her heart too.
I had so many questions and thoughts in my head but I can’t even let it out. Sometimes, I will find myself staring on a blank space, crying. Even the passion for what I love to do, left me. I was going insane. It was a feeling that I never had. The feeling of wanting to end the pain in my chest but I don’t want to end my life.
One time, I saw my eyebrow razor and I had no idea why it showed up in front of me so sudden. I was left alone in the house and I was crying all day. My chest felt so heavy like I have tons of heavy metals on me. I wanted to end the pain so I took the razor and I slashed my left arm. I wasn’t aiming for my pulse. I just wanted to hurt myself so that the pain that’s on my chest will be gone.
I did it for so many times. I don’t know how many scars it left on my arms but I certainly know how it felt. I felt nothing. No matter how many times I cut myself, the pain on my chest still lingers. My arms were numb of the cuts that I made. It didn’t help me ease the pain. Instead, I left a scar that reminded me how low I went down for not facing my problems.
And then one day, I woke up thinking how did I let those things consume me when all I have to do is face what’s ahead of me. The depression I had was there to make me realize how to become stronger when you’re at the lowest point of your life. That razor was the enlightenment I had. It was the thing that doesn’t kill me, but made me stronger.