Why It’s Not Funny

Hey Guys:

 

Before i start this post, I just want to put a warning out there: if you have depression, or something similar, this post MAY trigger something; it’s up to you if you read it or not. I understand if you choose not to.

 

In class today, we were having a discussion, as a form, about social media hacking, and what to do if your social media account were to get hacked. Of course, people mentioned the obvious answers: ‘change your password’, ‘report it’, ‘report the posts and comments’, etc. One response, however, made me stop. It made my heart stop, my brain stop, and my emotions fired up. Someone said: ‘commit suicide’.

 

What really sickens me is that people laughed. People found that funny.

 

It’s not funny.

 

Suicide isn’t a joke. Suicide isn’t something to be laughed at. suicide isn’t something to dismiss as a fantasy, something that doesn’t happen. Equally, suicide isn’t something to be associated with the weak.

 

Around a year to two years ago now, things weren’t great for me. To summarise, I’d fallen out with a good friend; the best one I had, and the one I’d known for the longest. They know who they are, and things are good now. I felt alone, and problem after problem rolled towards me, like waves crashing onto the beach. I was stressed, primarily because of the pressures of school; I was always tired, because there just wasn’t enough hours in the day; I felt alone, because I didn’t think anybody cared; one of my other friends was self-harming, and in a dark place; I was about to have major surgery on my eye socket, to try and make it look natural; I was making myself sick after eating. I think that in the end, things just got too much for me to deal with. I’ll happily admit that I’m by no means the strongest [mentally], and, to revert to the wave theory, I think that my stones finally broke down into sand, and got washed away.

 

Nights would come and go, and so many of them resembled the one before, and the one before that. Things would start off fine; homework, then food, then a bath or shower. I’d find my head down the loo, fingers down my throat, and bringing up everything I’d eaten. I didn’t like this, and I didn’t know why I was doing,it, and I guess because I didn’t like it, I unintentionally began to just stop eating altogether. Some days I’d eat a sandwich at school, and that would be it. And soon enough, ‘some days’ turned into most days, and ‘most days’ turned into every day.

 

Nights would go on; I’d text someone, and they’d be busy, and I’d text someone else, and they’d be busy. I spent my evenings, sometimes the early hours also, just lying, sitting, kneeling on my bedroom floor. I didn’t make a noise, i didn’t move, I didn’t do anything. And then it would come; the self-hatred. I was wasting my life, and I was a waste of space. And, i thought, if I was wasting my life, why waste any more of it?

 

I’d wake up a few hours later, still on the floor, still lying, sitting or kneeling, with scars on my hands and arms, and blood on a towel on the floor. And every morning, I regretted it. and every evening, it happened again. This vicious cycle went on and on, until this one day.

 

In August, I took part in a tandem cycle ride, to raise money for a charity who organise tournaments for the sport that I play. The last night, we shared rooms, to cut down on hotel costs. i shared with another boy, who himself was depressed. We talked about it. It was so easy to talk to him; he new me just through the happy persona I displayed when around others. We didn’t know each other well. He totally got it – the first person who had -, and told me that things would get better. Coming from someone who’s experienced it, that short sentence sounds so much more convincing, than from someone who has no idea. He gave me techniques to calm myself down, and to think straight.

 

I can’t thank him enough for what he did for me. I’m sure that he’d say he did nothing. He saved me from myself. It would only have been a matter of time before I slipped off of that cliff edge, and there’d be no going back then.

 

These days, those evenings aren’t so common. They happen; i won’t deny that. But they’re few and far between. Yes, I sometimes feel depressed, or hopeless. But things rarely get that bad any more.

 

Suicide isn’t funny. I was saved. Many aren’t so lucky.

 

Suicide isn’t funny.

 

L XX

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12 thoughts on “Why It’s Not Funny

  1. Suicide is the last thing people should find funny. And I’m so sorry you had to go through what you did. I’m sure it won’t make a difference, but I hope those evenings keep getting even fewer and even farther between. And remember, you’ve got us now, who you know will always have time to talk to you and support you. You don’t ever have to feel alone again. xxxx

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This post made me want to cry. I never knew how much you’d gone through. It amazes me at how strong you are here everyday, even though you don’t know it. Suicide isn’t funny. Not ever. I hurt myself sometimes and I know what it’s like to be in that frame of mind. It’s not funny.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I agree. Sometimes, people say stuff like that to look ‘cool’ or be ‘popular ‘. What they don’t understand, is the effect it can have on others.
    You are a survivor. And you will save lives. You have perhaps saved the many lives who have read this post. I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through, but your story is inspiring to others. You are a moral support for so many out there.
    I am really glad you’re safe now.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I 100% agree. I have lost two friends to it, and one we didn’t see coming. Anyone can feel unwanted enough to hurt themselves, so we should all just be kind and compassionate to one another. I guess thats more easy said than done.

    Liked by 1 person

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