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The wind from the open window blew past me and I had a feeling it understood what I was going through. Pain gnawed at me but it was not physical.
At least not yet. I felt a terrible loss. Almost as if the devil and his team had made a visit to my door.
Nothing made sense anymore. The more I struggled to remain afloat the more waves of negative emotions pulled me back down.
My world was dark, blurred, scary and I was tempted to give it all up and end it. I felt like I could not take it anymore. Like dying would be a relief at the moment.
Crying only made me pity myself even more. I did not want to talk to anyone because I felt no one would really understand.
My hair stood unkempt and shaggy, my brown nightgown clinging to my skin which was coated in sweat. The white silk sheets that were drenched in sweat and drops of tears were rumbled up around me and I felt tempted to tie them up to the ceiling and hang myself.
My mouth was dry and my lips chapped. I had not eaten for three days and did not have money to buy anything. The rascals had stolen everything from me.


I did not feel love, I did not feel like I belonged. My family was too far away. Maybe they did care but at that moment I had a feeling they did not give a damn.
The world was laughing at me, and though I had tried my best to fight back, I no longer had the strength.
I felt like a failure. I felt like others were better than me and that this would forever be so because I had tried my best but still there was no improvement.
In fact, I had failed even more. How was it that some other people had dreams and achieved them while I felt stuck in my hell hole?
How was it that others set goals, felt motivated by them, rose up each day to go after their dreams, worked their ass off to achieve them, felt like they had done something useful at the end of the day, and had energy and passion to still be all they were created to be while I did not even have the will to wake up in the morning and do anything?
I was the kind that set my alarm clock at 5.30 am each morning but would switch it off then go back to sleep till noon.


I had dreams but that is all they were dreams and wishes. I told myself I would make a difference the next day but I was sinking even deeper into my bottomless pit, and the further down I went the more downtrodden I became and the more hopeless I believed my situation to be.
Was I lazy? I hated that word. Unmotivated, discouraged, and dispirited was more like it. I felt like I had lost everything, money, friends, love, dreams, and hope.
I sat on my double bed, my eyes transfixed on my bedside drawers where my anti-depressants bottle I had carelessly tossed the previous night.
Recently I had been taking more and more pills. I had just taken some more. Maybe that is why I was now sweating like a pig, my chest heaving heavily and my head fuzzy.

Making Up My Mind

It was like I was slowly losing it but at that moment I convinced myself it was for the best. I was ready to go to heaven or hell, anything was better than this nightmare bubble I was living in, that kept tormenting me every day.
Something interesting was that I was in this shitty situation and nobody knew it. I wondered if anyone had cared enough to see through my pretense, with the fake smiles that quite did not reach my eyes.
The mood swings that people thought were weird but were too unconcerned to dig into deeper, the silent cries that I hid when in the bathroom but pretended to have a bad allergy when my eyes were red and swollen.
My withdrawn self that nobody knew, and nobody cared to understand. To my eyes, I was a nobody and worth nothing. The world seemed to see this too.
I had stopped praying a long time ago. If God really cared, then I would not be in this situation. If He really existed, then I would not be begging Him to save me yet all the while feeling cursed as the days went by.
Had I not been taught that He was all good and caring? Where then was He now when nothing seemed to make sense? Bitter, angry, and depressed, I was tired of fighting.
I thought of taking those pills yet again and ending it once and for all. I was going to die lonely, but at least I would find some peace. Peace from this suicidal mind.
I stretched out my hand, they were shaky and I was developing a fever. This would be one slow painful death. And the process had just begun.
I was cursed, unlucky, and unloved and was doing the world a favor by taking this piece of worthlessness away. My phone vibrated and for a split second there I felt that was a sign.

A Sign

The caller ID read my uncle, and I tapped the green button to answer then said a weak “hello uncle…” my voice trailing off as I tried to focus my thoughts.
My head was pounding, my whole body high in fever, and my face contorted as a sharp pain coursed through my stomach.
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“Laila are you okay?” I heard my uncle shout his voice laced with worry and fear. He said my name countless times after that, but I was too weak to reply. I forced myself with all my might to answer him.
“If anything happens to me, I love you uncle, please tell my family that I love them all,” I coughed out the words, my head spinning. The phone fell off my hands, but before then I heard my uncle scream into the phone that he was coming to get me.
At that moment I saw a glint of hope. Maybe, just maybe it was not too late to give life a second chance. Maybe just maybe there was a way out.
A thought occurred to me that I should try vomit, which would take the poisoning medication out. I then stuck two shaky fingers into my mouth, just as I saw my mum do it to my brother once after he had overeaten. Nothing came out.
Water, I needed to take water first and fast too. I tried getting off the bed. My system was shutting down, but “no, no, no” I pleaded with the universe.
The pain I would cause my family, judging from my uncle’s reaction would be too much. Some cared after all. “Dear God please help me, if you truly exist, see me through,” I pleaded. A few seconds later, I lost touch with reality, passed out, and lost consciousness.