There are some moments in life that make me re-evaluate the reasons why I haven’t ended my own life; the reasons why I didn’t feel the need to give in and drown in the depths of life.
Yes, I know suicide is never the answer and it brings more misery than what the person anticipated, and that no matter how hard it gets that ending all opportunities to a better tomorrow is the worst decision.
I’ve known enough happy days to even out all the bad ones I’ve encountered and not once have I felt it more necessary to be gone forever.
But the days where I experience the same domestic abuse situation, that I’ve been in for almost 10 years, starts sounding like a broken record. And it’s been dragging me down.
I have endured it all through my childhood and just now, 17 years of age, have I decided to be somewhat a part of it.
You’d think getting used to it made me less prone to getting anxious but to be honest it just got worse by the years.
The older I got, and the more aware I became of things; the more it made me want to try to stop what misery my mom has to endure with whatever mental abuse gets thrown to her head every now and then.
It got physical too sometimes, which made me scared. Scared for my mom, my family, my brother’s future mental health and my overall future state of mind.
It makes me scared for future relationships. And it makes me makes me wonder why I’m still floating on the surface of life, never really daring to swim further and faster; never really daring to sink deeper.
I’m always worried about being an adult.
Not because I can’t handle that but because I’m scared to leave my mother.
It frightens me to not know what might happen.
My grandma told me that I shouldn’t worry because it’s my mom’s baggage to carry and that that isn’t my life and I shouldn’t do too much about it anymore. Because that isn’t my life; It doesn’t have to define me nor my future.
Maybe that’s what’s keeping me afloat.