Almost Giving Up.
I remember those lonely nights.
That time in life when I was done, emotionally crippled.
When I cared less for myself than even my enemies did.
I used to whisper horibble things into the abyss,
and treated myself as a third-class citizen.
I remember when I almost pulled that trigger,
that time when I was so blinded by self-loathing and pity
that I was willing to bring pain to everyone around me.
How lucky I was that crux of this self-hate passed.
Though it still can't stop me from thinking back.
Often I wonder what the world would have been like without me in it;
How would the world's narative have changed with one less depressed youth?
What would my family have done,
and would my chief antagonists feel bad, or simply indifferent?
When I mutter these things and am over-heard people always seem to say,
"Stop." or "Don't say those sort of things."
but what they must realize is that this was who I was,
and it simply was a thought process that bared it's horid head everyday.
To a point where I was string down the barrel of a gun.
But I'm not there anymore, and that sad child has stepped out of the shadows.
That the depressed youth walked into the sun, and found himself a joyful man.
I broke out of that prison I created,
I broke my habit of self-torture.
If anything I am stronger for it.
For I had endured some manner of hell,
even if it had been self-inflicted,
and had seen just how far the depth of the abyss of depression was.
Now I know that I never want to go down there again!
The person who started this poem was who I was,
and is far from who I am today,
and even farther from what I will be.
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