Mental health

The Difference of Awareness, pt 3.

Continuation of The Difference of Awareness, pt 2.

That night I had one of the worst moments of my life. The day went on kind of fine, even though I kept on checking my heartbeat every five minutes, just to make sure my heart was in fact still beating. I remember I had a driving class that morning. I went there after the E.R. episode, and I could hardly use the gearshift because my right wrist was still hurting for the blood sample taking.

Anyway, as I said, the day passed, and soon it was dinner time. My mother summoned us with the usual “The food is ready” and we sat at the table. I took my place and waited for my plate. I remember the discomfort I felt, but I tried to resist. My mom placed the plate of toast and lentils in front of me. I reached for the fork, but at that point my brain stopped working.

I was staring at the food, but my stomach started shrinking and a strong but undescribable feeling took over me. Just recalling it makes me shudder, but I’ll try. It felt like suddenly all the sadness of the world was inside of me. I felt scared and overwhelmed, but in a very quiet and resigned way. I felt I could never overcome this feeling, and my life was close to an end. I couldn’t live in that pain. Nobody could. Ever.

I felt lost and I started feeling the need of running away. I was gasping for breath, there was no air for me at that table. The fear became tangible inside of me. I felt it in my belly, in my stomach, in my chest. I felt like dying, but this time it was not my body: It was my soul.

I went to my room, disoriented. I couldn’t live like this. It was too much. I couldn’t live carrying the burden of the world on my shoulders and waiting for a heart attack to arrive. What was happening to me? Where had I gone wrong? Had I gone bad? Was that how the rest of my life was going to be?

I closed the door, but I opened it again. What if I had a heart attack and nobody noticed? It was better to keep the door open. I sat on my bed, but couldn’t stay still. I started crying and panting. I was terrified and the only thing I could think of was “I can’t take this”.

As hard as it can be to admit a thought like this, I started asking myself what might be the least painful way to end my life, just in case I couldn’t get out of the deep black hole I had fallen into. I was trying to get out, but there was no ladder or rope. I was crying for help, but my cry was voiceless.

Living a life like this was impossible. Ending it might have been the only solution.


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