My friend would never know it.
I’m that silly friend who is always cracking jokes whenever possible, acting tough when being asked about life, and when I’m not being funny I’d act baby/girl-ish.

They know that I would get sad sometimes over something, but never too much.
I’m that person who can keep all their secrets and give them the best advise.
Advise that I should have told to myself but I didn’t.

Once I chat up someone who posted a desperate status on facebook. It turned out she had these pills on her hand ready to swallowed it all down. She said that I saved her.
But only a week ago, I had these pills myself in my hand. 3 sleeping pills. While I knew it wouldn’t kill me, I hoped that it would get me to sleep so much deeper so I could run away from my life longer.
I told her, “Don’t give up. Not killing yourself is a brave thing to do. Whenever you are down, come to me. I’m always here”.
I mean it. But I should have told the same advice to myself.

The other time, I had this friend. He just broke up with his girlfriend of 2 years and sort of lost in life. He threw himself to alcohol and I would message him and call him, telling him to work out instead to burn out the “sadness” rather than drinking.
But just 2 days ago, I almost buy my first alcohol and drink it alone in my room.
I told him not to damage his body ’cause he’s gonna need it someday when he wants to play with his grandchildren.
I should have told myself that same advice.

No one else would know this.
I’m that cheerful friend who always cracking jokes and acting girlish.
They had no idea that every single night I couldn’t sleep and would cry for I don’t know how long, feeling desperate and lost.

They had no idea that every single morning I try to get out of my room as early as I could. I would wake up at 6 am everyday, but stay on the bed literally for hours, failed to find a reason to get up.

They had no idea that unless I drink my coffee, it would ruin my day not only feel sleepy like everyone else, but I would get that flooding feelings of helpless and desperation, all.day.long.

They had no idea that sometimes when I lay on my bed, I would stare on my window and spend hours imagining what would it feels like to jump out of it.
I would spend hours thinking how deep should I cut my wrist to make me bleed fast enough I won’t feel too much pain.
I would spend hours thinking how much sleeping pills I need to take so I can die in my sleep.

I have nobody to share these.
Literally nobody.
But that’s okay. This is my life.
I have to fight my own way.

To know that even when I feel so desperate, I still holding on,
Even when I want to spend days literally laying on my bed doing exactly nothing, I still get up,
I’m still trying, I’m still fighting,
it makes me smile.
I am indeed stronger than I thought I would be.
Even when I can’t fight hard enough, I’m still strong enough to hold on. And that is good.
That is good enough for me.



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