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The Choice to Stay

 Hey, 

Good news. 

I have abandoned the idea of suicide for now. The weight on my chest is still there, pressing down as always. The financial mess, the loneliness, the uncertainty—none of it has magically disappeared. But something inside me has shifted.

The same reasons I once had for wanting to leave it all behind are now the very reasons pushing me to stay. I see now that life, however painful, is still full of possibilities. And death? Death is final. Unchangeable. It offers no second chances, no unexpected joys, no moments of peace after the storms.

We’re all going to die eventually—so why not live until then?

So, I am not going to kill myself on the appointed day. Instead, I will live. I will live fully, even with the weight. I will carry it differently.

I don't know how long this feeling will last. I’ve climbed out of this pit before, only to slip and fall back in. But this time, I want to believe I can hold on a little longer. Maybe even climb higher. I just hope that this time, it lasts.

Because I’m tired of being miserable. Not just of sadness itself, but the exhaustion that comes with it—the way it turns breathing into a burden, the way it makes even the simplest tasks feel insurmountable.

I don’t want to live like that anymore. I don’t have to.

Today marks my 30th day clean, and I feel proud of myself. No self-harm for a month. That’s huge, right? It might not seem like much to someone else, but for me, it’s everything. A whole month of resisting the urge, of choosing something different, of proving to myself—over and over again—that I can do this.

So, I am doing my best—really, truly trying. And in a long while, I feel like I’m actually succeeding. It’s not just pretending. It’s not just putting on a mask to get through the day. This time, it feels real. A shift. A step forward.

I know there will still be bad days, still moments where I feel like I’m slipping. But right now, in this moment, I am choosing to believe in my progress. In my strength. In the possibility of something better.

And I will continue increasing this number. I will keep pushing forward, one day at a time. Last time, I went 408 days clean. Over a year. Until it all crashed, and I relapsed. I remember that day vividly—the heaviness in my chest, the feeling of failure, the shame that followed. It was like watching something I had built with so much effort crumble in an instant.

But I also remember how strong I had been to make it that far in the first place. And if I could do it once, I can do it again. Maybe even longer this time. Maybe even forever.

The temptation is still there, lurking in the background, waiting for a weak moment. But today, I am stronger. Today, I am choosing to keep going. And tomorrow? I’ll make that choice again.

And maybe that’s all survival really is—choosing, over and over, to stay. To believe, even when it feels impossible. To fight for a future I can’t yet see but want to trust exists.

I know there will be days when I stumble, when the weight feels unbearable again. Days when the old thoughts creep back in, whispering their familiar lies. But even on those days, I will remember this moment. This strength. This promise to myself.

Because I am still here. And as long as I am here, I have a chance. A chance to heal. A chance to grow. A chance to build a life that feels like mine.

And I’m taking it.

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