"If I'm too cowardly
to life my life
at least I am brave
enough to take it."
-reprised from Maria's Notebook, 2007
It was the second time I seriously thought of committing suicide.
For the past decade, I am very much certain of where my life will lead me. I was sure that I will stay as a journalist. Maybe a little work for the television entertainment scene or write features or anything relevant, but journalism, definitely is the vocation for me. The pay sucks. The stress level always beyond imaginable. But here is where I found my worth and since then, it gave me comfort in moments of doubt.
I live with my family a region away from where I work. It was tiring, I admit, travelling at least two hours a day. But I became used to it and I don't mind anymore. Yes, the plan is to get a place of my own within the Metro, but only for inevitable instances like typhoons or monsoon floodings, which is slowly becoming the norm, or anything that would prevent me from coming home. Nevertheless I will always come home no matter. I have to. And I want to.
As for friends, the closest ones are those I rarely talk with. We don't put comments in each other's Facebook status regularly or like every IG post or anything in social media. We rarely text each other or meet regularly for a quick coffee despite the three of us in the group working in the same building and for the same company. It is not our thing and never will be. But we understand each other so much that even in the smallest gestures or great silence, we know. Always.
All these about my life were certain until this month. No one among the closests to me died, but somewhere in the deepest core of my being, a part of me is gone. Dead. Then fear came.
When I was younger, success is always easier. I was top of the class. I am friends with many. I compete in academic and art exhibitions where most of the time I emerged victorious. When I aspire for something, as long as I work hard, I always get it. There are rough times, yes, but they were minor setbacks. It was not generally smooth, but at least it was bearable.
Now they were all but distant memories, distant figures of my former self. Gone were the certainty in my gaze, the commanding posture my underclassmen used to fear as I walk down the alleys of our school. The thunderous voice began to squeak, the tears now free flowing, my hands undeniably trembling.
I no longer know which path to take. I stand in a dark crossroad gasping for breath, bloodied and dying. The monstrous shame, terrible low self-esteem, doubt, like venomous snakes clasped their fangs within my soul sucking out the life out of me to oblivion.
Sleep is my glimpse of both heaven and hell. In sleep I rest my mind from conjuring demons. But there, sometimes, they come haunting. There are nights when I'll wake in the middle of the night crying, sweat dripping only to find out I cannot move even a single muscle in my body. I lay there n my bed petrified, thinking I will die anytime soon. I hope I did.
I am terrified. I am terrified of myself. I am terrified of what will come. I am terrified of making another decision because it could be another mistake.
Fear already consumed me. It was the unknown, the darkness which I used to inhabit that turned its back on me. I cannot find myself anymore. I can hear the Earth moving in agony, even the stars dying slowly in a distant universe. Everything is dying in a torturous slow motion.
I am a coward, I admit. That's why I wanted to just die. I was not eating for days. I was almost catatonic. I am currently on leave from work. And whilst I can say that whatever this "thing" I'm going through is getting better, the truth is I am not better. I lost everything - confidence, trust, perception, logic - a lot of me taken away. The sound of the clock ticking is deafening and I know my time is almost up. Almost.