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Life hit me hard last spring. While the leaves regained their color, my mind turned black. I was relapsing, and scared because the same old thinking patterns were beginning to rush back in again. Anxiety knocked, and suicidal thoughts and plans occupied my mind.

"I'm not enough, I'm not worthy, I'm a mistake. My friends don't love me. My family doesn't appreciate me. I can't do anything right. I'm a mess. The world would be better a place without me. I need to kill myself. I'm obligated to commit suicide.” These are just some of the thoughts that played in my mind for three days straight while I was lying alone in my bed.

I had people around me, but it wasn't enough. I kept myself in the dark. Help was right in front of me, but I didn't accept it. At that point, no one can save you. I had everything anyone could need to be happy, but I didn't value it enough. I had all these amazing things, but when I looked at myself in the mirror, I just saw a blurred version of myself.

Help was vital. I was sick. Not just mentally, but I also had an illness that fucked me up physically. I had no energy, slept more than usual and had constant headaches for three weeks. I set an appointment at the hospital to see what could be done about the illness. It may seem irrational, and it was, but I was determined to commit suicide if they couldn’t find out what was wrong with me.

"I kept myself in the dark. Help was right in front of me, but I didn't accept it. At that point, no one can save you."
I had planned it all, my last day on this earth. After my appointment, I would meet my mother for the last time. Then I would take a walk to the bridge of Gothenburg, wait until dark, and jump. But I never got there.

At the hospital, the nurse asked me how I was doing. I have no clue why, but I said, ”I'm depressed.” Her eyebrows shot up. ”What?! That's not why you're here?" I couldn't hold back my tears any longer. I reveled my feelings and plans. I was saved. I accepted my condition and got sent straight to the psychiatric emergency department.

After that, I found myself determined to stay alive. Today I’m on pills and will likely be diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I feel scared, but confident that I will find a way of living with it. So far, I’ve found it so empowering to share my story and give hope to others in similar experiences of pain. My instagram, www.instagram.com/thedepressed1, is where I fight to #KillTheTaboo of mental illness and spread awareness.

Keep fighting for a better story. You deserve it.