September 17th 2017, exactly ten days after my birthday, I lay crumpled on the floor in so much agonising pain because I did not now how I would make it through the news that my friend had just hung himself. As someone who has endured the torment of depression, anxiety and bulimia, it was something I struggled for a long time to avoid myself too. Three months later, I found myself travelling in an ambulance, alone, at 1AM towards the hospital because I had swallowed almost 100 pills. There were many signs, such blatantly obvious signs that people should have picked up on, or maybe they did, but chose to ignore them. You see, nobody really wants to die, they want an end to their suffering and sometimes it seems to become the only way out that people can see. Its the better option to some, rather than merely existing day to day paralysed by your own mind.
Routine, security and common sense—diseases to mankind. Over the past few years, I have experienced enough hurt to understand that life is short and very easily wasted. Painfully, I watch people throw away their lives while achieving all their goals. Friends becoming successful, flapping around resume's of good grades, having careers and families but never truly living. Never experiencing all the world can offer to us if we just open our minds. Never truly feeling free or recklessly wild. I have found that the most dangerous way to live, is safely.