I hope everyone win in their life, but not me…

Today, I went to see a psychiatrist again after many years. The last time I visited one was when I was 18. Now, at 22, I found myself sitting in that room once more.

I told my complicated story — about how I have slowly started giving up on life, about the many failures I have faced, and how it often feels like I keep running into a wall no matter how hard I try. After that, I met with a psychologist as well, and once again, I found myself in tears.

When my session was over, I noticed a boy who looked around 12–14 years old. At first, he seemed physically healthy, but then I realized he was also there to see a psychiatrist because of OCD. The moment I heard that, I froze.

That used to be my story too.

When I was 18, OCD was one of my biggest struggles, and from what I observed, his experience seemed very similar to what I went through. My heart broke for him. He is only around 13 years old, yet he is already carrying such a heavy burden.

I cried because I truly hope he recovers soon. I know how painful that battle can be because I have been in his position before.

From that moment, I realized how deeply empathetic I have become toward other people. I genuinely hope that my family, friends, relatives, and everyone in this world can be strong, heal, and succeed in their lives.

But not me.

Why?

Because I know what struggle feels like. Compared to what I have been through, other people’s problems often seem insignificant to me, so I simply pray for the best for them. I want them to win.

As for me, I am tired.

I actually have many dreams and a long bucket list of things I want to achieve in this world. But if achieving those dreams means going through endless suffering and struggle, sometimes I would rather die and ask Allah in Jannah to grant those wishes instead.

I do not want to suffer anymore.

Sometimes I think it would be better to simply watch the people I love live happily. It feels easier to be a supporter than to be a player in this game called life.

I hope I do not have a long life, because I know how easily I can fall apart and end up sitting in a psychiatrist’s or psychologist’s office again.

And I keep wondering: what will happen to my life?

Can I really recover from my mental illness?

There is something inside my mind that I feel nobody truly understands, and sometimes I wonder if anyone could ever handle it.