Every Grief Has a Face

Someone just died. Suicide.

Saying someone just killed himself sounds implicating. The first time I saw his picture with a “Missing" tag and last seen place as Third Mainland Bridge, I silently wished him peace wherever he was. I knew he deserved plenty of it.

Recent update shows that he is dead. As in gone to where the sun never sets. He finally did it, and he left a note.

I’m trying so hard not to tear up in this damn office bikonu!

Dude’s been battling with depression for seven years. His story felt so personal, like someone telling my story and inserting himself in the plot.

He said he couldn’t love himself enough! He said it and wasn’t ashamed of it one bit.

I wish I could talk about my self-loathing without feeling so ashamed. I wish I could talk about how I more like tolerate myself than love myself. Still not sure if this thing of feeling stuck with yourself is a middle-child kini or not.

This is why my idea of love is fleeting. This is why when people say they love me I spend more time trying to figure what exactly there is to love than reciprocating the love.

In this hot afternoon I figured this could be me, in the future when I finally get enough courage or when I finally get so fed up with standing up and fighting back. This isn’t living. I’m not built for this struggle and it shows in how I’m gradually slipping away, feeling nothing.

At that point nothing would matter. Not my dreams, not my craft ,not what people will say, not my friends, not my siblings, and not my mom. At that point it’ll be the highest level of self-love I’ll ever show myself.

I deserve peace. Everyone deserves peace, Akachi, that young man that just killed himself, every fvcking person!

This isn’t living!