A few weeks ago I got some news which was rather shocking and made me want to be honest. I logged onto facebook one day and was greeted with the news that a young man who was in the same year as me, and did the same subject as me at university, had taken his own life. He was 24.

The thing that struck me is that he had much to be envious of. He lived in London and worked for a famous magazine as a writer. He had a girlfriend and a family. I had only ever exchanged a few words with him, but from what I saw of him, he was handsome, popular, and successful.

Although the news was shocking to me at first, once my depressive way of thinking set in, I began to think about my own situation. Over the past year, I have often thought that I have nothing to live for, and that living itself is pointless. What can really be achieved in such a brief span? What really makes life worthwhile? Even if those around me were shocked and sad for a spell if I were not here, eventually they would all die too, and then what would become of the breath that was my life? 

Somehow it’s hard to believe all the beliefs and principles that have girded your life philosophy, or even be clear about what they are, when you’re in the dark. The truth is since I’ve been ill, I have often contemplated taking my own life, and looked forward to such a prospect with longing, and relief. And I thought it was important to be brutally honest, since there must be others out there suffering under the same burden and not knowing how to tell anyone about it. But to be honest is at least one goal I could aim towards for the sake of tomorrow.


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