The Moving Train: Seven Years Ago, I Wanted To Kill Myself . By Sylvanus Omoniyi.

In 2009, I fell into depression. It was so deep that I contemplated suicide. I wanted to kill myself. I wanted to end it all. I felt the world would be better without me. I felt my family would be better in my absence. I was wrong. I had everything I needed to live life. I had every reason to keep living. But no, I was thinking about death. Almost every time. Probably because I was never satisfied with life. I thought things could be better. I thought it wasn’t enough to just live, and eat, and drink. I thought there is more to life than just living.

In all honesty, then, I wanted to kill myself. But the only thing that was preventing me from doing so was the thought of my mother. I imagined the kind of sadness that would envelope her, hearing about the death of her son. I imagined her silent cries. I imagined the sorrows that would visit her. I imagined her innumerable rhetorical questions. I had already sent a text message to someone that I wanted to kill myself. I sent a goodbye message. I told my pastor that no one should cry when I’m gone. No one knew what was going on in my mind. Not even my mother. My pastor encouraged me to keep living. But I was determined to die.

I would go out in the evening to a far place, sit alone, not talking to anyone. I would just sit silently. Watching and thinking. There was a time I sat close to a mosque in a remote area. I watched Muslims wash their faces, hands, and legs and move into the mosque to pray. I heard the sounds of birds, chirping and flying above me in the sky. I cut off relationships. I wanted to be all alone and find the courage to commit suicide. I didn’t remember any good thing about this life. I didn’t remember any positive thing about myself.

At that time, most people thought I was better than them. They thought my life was rosy and beautiful. They saw the smiles. They saw the external calmness. And the poise. And the grace. They didn’t know I was troubled inside. They thought I was happy. They could be right. They said I was lucky. They said I was fortunate. Fortunate in many things. But I didn’t see anything good about myself. I allowed myself believe they were deceiving me. All the good things they were saying about me didn’t matter to me at all. I just wanted to die. But I couldn’t, just because of my mother.

Depression makes it tough to function and enjoy life like you once did. Just getting through the day can be overwhelming. But no matter how hopeless you feel, you can get better. Depression is a major risk factor for suicide. The deep despair and hopelessness that goes along with depression can make suicide feel like the only way to escape the pain. Depression, frustration and sadness are passing clouds. They come. They go. You are greater than anything that comes and goes. I wanted to kill myself in 2009, but I’m happy that I didn’t kill myself. Are you going through depression, sadness, disappointment, frustrations and sorrows? Don’t kill yourself. Give it time. They would surely go!


Victor Imhangbe

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