I Almost didn’t Pass 17th

teenage dirtbag.png

TW: self-harm, depression.

When I was 16, I was diagnosed with BPD and depression. That moment changed my life entirely. I view things differently, as if there was no colour in my life. Everything was black and white back then, no in between.

Every day, I carry a heavy stone on my shoulder. It is hard to function as a normal human being. When everyone else wishes to thrive higher, my only wish is to live as a normal teenager with a happy life.

But things were different. Even wishing for a normal life felt like an impossible thing to achieve. I cried, I cut myself. I enjoy seeing blood flow through my skin, leaving a deep-red wound right after I cut myself with a blade.

I didn’t do shit to gain attention. I was never an attention seeker. I was just a teenager hoping for someone to actually care for me deeply. On the outside, I seem cold and hard to approach. Little did they know, I was fragile.

I prayed to God, waiting patiently for Him to take my own life. I was tired of living a life like that. Even to me, I felt like a sin. I felt rejected, worthless, and also helpless. I smoke, I cut, I ran away from my “home”. I did everything just to destroy myself.

Because deep down inside, I always believe that I deserve to die. I deserve to be broken and crushed into pieces. I was no more than a broken jar, waiting for someone to actually throw it away.

I almost didn’t make it past 17. My 16-year-old self almost died from a single cut on my wrist.

I don’t know whether I should be grateful or grieving. I failed to kill myself. I feel like a failure every time I take a step further in my journey. Even to end my worthless self, I failed. I cried. I blame God, the Answer for everything.

Why did God choose to let me live when I chose to give up on myself? I saw those eyes. The eye that radiates a different light.

The light of hope, despite every hardship that we have faced.

They still want me to live.

When death feels impossible, I choose to keep moving forward. I left every scar behind, letting it heal by itself. I fail and fail again. And keep failing.

But I no longer feel like a failure.

I win. Over myself. Over my depression.

And now, I’m turning 18. If I didn’t pass 17, I may not experience every Xdinary Heroes’ comeback, the band that saved my life back then.

If I didn’t pass 17, I may not be able to forgive myself. Or even my parents.

And my sister, too.

If I didn’t pass 17, I may not be able to realise my true friendship. Those who were there at my hardest time.

If I didn’t pass 17, I may not see other colours besides black and white. I may not see purple, red, or even blue.

And now, I am 18.

Am really proud of myself, the little kid who questioned the purpose of life back then. The little kid who keeps moving forward despite almost giving up to face the stormy nights.

At the end, I’m the one who can save myself.

Tonight, I am officially 18.

Happy birthday to me. Thank you for keeping standing up. For always moving forward. Thank you for never giving up.