Don’t Give up on Yourself Because Life is Hard

Murdering yourself doesn’t solve anything

Photo by Josh Hild from Pexels

My doctor put me on Prozac to reduce the symptoms of depression. But they didn’t help. I still wanted to end my life. I didn’t have a Prozac deficiency. I needed solutions to the many problems I had.

I stumbled around life in a fog. I had gone from a vibrant, confident woman to a hollowed-out desperate child. I kept hearing voices in my head. “Jump in front of that oncoming train”. “Let the steering wheel go while you’re driving”. ”Take them all now.”

I had gone from a vibrant, confident woman to a hollowed-out desperate child. I kept hearing voices in my head.

I had also met a man who used my face as a punching bag.

I had no one to reach out to. My friends had abandoned me. The minister I trusted had made passes at me so I couldn’t go to him for help.

But I had a full bottle of Prozac. I had help in that bottle. Since one a day couldn’t help me. The entire bottle at once could. Couldn’t it?

So I unscrewed the cap. I poured out all the pills in my left hand. I got up to get some water. But instead of going to the kitchen, I detoured to the bathroom. In a daze, I opened the toilet. I emptied my hand…