Almost Giving Up.


I remember those lonely nights.

That time in life when I was done, emotionally crippled.

When I cared less for myself than even my enemies did.

I used to whisper horibble things into the abyss,

and treated myself as a third-class citizen.


I remember when I almost pulled that trigger,

that time when I was so blinded by self-loathing and pity

that I was willing to bring pain to everyone around me.

How lucky I was that crux of this self-hate passed.


Though it still can't stop me from thinking back.

Often I wonder what the world would have been like without me in it;

How would the world's narative have changed with one less depressed youth?

What would my family have done,

and would my chief antagonists feel bad, or simply indifferent?


When I mutter these things and am over-heard people always seem to say,

"Stop." or "Don't say those sort of things."

but what they must realize is that this was who I was,

and it simply was a thought process that bared it's horid head everyday.

To a point where I was string down the barrel of a gun.


But I'm not there anymore, and that sad child has stepped out of the shadows.

That the depressed youth walked into the sun, and found himself a joyful man.

I broke out of that prison I created,

I broke my habit of self-torture.


If anything I am stronger for it.

For I had endured some manner of hell,

even if it had been self-inflicted,

and had seen just how far the depth of the abyss of depression was.

Now I know that I never want to go down there again!


The person who started this poem was who I was,

and is far from who I am today,

and even farther from what I will be.


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