Here’s an open letter to the guy who told me I was just being too emotional when I almost killed myself.
I know things are not going well in your life lately, but let me take this moment to say that I am sorry. I’m sorry for shouting at you. I’m sorry for not keeping my cool that day. I’m sorry for calling you stupid. I’m sorry for giving up trying to explain to you what I feel. I’m sorry I can’t make you see what this all means. I’m sorry if I keep blaming you for not being able to know exactly what to say and do at exactly the right time.
Lastly, I’m sorry I am not sorry for thinking you’re an insensitive human being. To be honest, I still think that you are.
You laughed at me when I was on the verge of crying. I hope someday you’ll realize that mental health is no laughing matter. I will always remember the day when you told me to just get over it. I want you to know that I won’t.
Depression is an illness just like how cancer is an illness.
Like a fluid released from a ruptured cyst, it will permeate your brain until you can no longer take the pain. You won’t know when it’ll hit you and when it does, there’s no escape. You’ll feel like your days are numbered, so you’ll think you’re better off dead.
Have you ever wondered why some wealthy cancer patients refuse to undergo chemotherapy? Have you ever wondered why many people kill themselves? Please think about it.
You told me that I wouldn’t be a drama queen if I didn’t read too many books and watch too many films. I want you to know that I think it’s the other way around. Perhaps you don’t understand depression because you have not read enough books or watched too many movies. Perhaps you have no idea what mental health means because the only time you were forced to read something about it was through textbooks. And that was back in high school. Perhaps you don’t feel what I feel because you have not seen more of life. Perhaps you don’t pay much attention to the world.
And perhaps it’s about time that you do.
You judged me for having suicidal tendencies instead of singing me to sleep. You could have saved the day if you just kept silent–the words that you said were like a poison that could ruin me anytime.
Still, I forgive you.
I hope to God that this won’t happen to you, and when it does, I will feed you with my love and let you know that I am here no matter what happens, especially when this happens. I won’t be mean like you were once to me; I will be here to listen, or if you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll wait patiently until you open up to me.
I will be the friend that I needed when I almost gave up–not the friend that you were to me when I wanted to disappear from the world.
You left me when I was at my most vulnerable and told me you’d come back once I’ve gotten over my depression. You chose to leave me in fragments because I refused to believe you when you said that other people had it worse. To tell you the truth, they did not. You told me that this was just a phase and that I’d get over it. That I needed to stop being too melodramatic. You thought that by saying those words to me, you could save me from my misery.
You were wrong, but thank you.
It’s because of you that I am a stronger person now. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t realize that I am the best friend that I could have. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know that I am the superhero that I needed.
To the guy who thought he could save me, thank you, but I don’t need saving.
This was originally published on Candy Magazine