When It Becomes Too Much

TRIGGER WARNING: This post deals with a subject matter that some people might find triggering.

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Eight carriages.

One hundred and twenty tons.

20 miles per hour.

It would have been so easy.

One last breath.

One last heartbeat.

Before the void had swallowed me whole.

I'd just read something that had left me debating my future. In a matter of moments, the crushing blackness of depression had changed me from happy-go-lucky to tired and weary, settling over me as quickly as the coming of winter. My heart and soul ached and my eyes stung with tears. Suddenly everything I was working towards felt pointless and I wondered why I was wasting my time.

Standing on the platform at Queensway Station, I realised how easy it would be to just step out into nothing. It would have erased so many problems. The feeling of hopelessness would have been snuffed out in the flash of a Tube train's headlights.

As I waited for those lights to pierce through the darkness, other thoughts began to cross my mind.

The train driver. How will they feel?

My family.

My friends.

The million and one other things I want to do with my life.

The things I want to say to people before my time's up.

The words people have said to me in recent months.

The tears continued to well up. The pain in my body was all to real, the dulled emotions I was feeling causing me to feel heavy and ill.

I wanted it to end.

I couldn't take it any more.

I'd already suffered for so long, the constant up and down of my moods grinding me down. Life, in that moment, was awful and, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get the break I needed. My life was useless and hopeless. Why bother continuing? Why not just end it?

There's the rumble of an oncoming train. The warm rush of air in the tunnel. The bright orbs at the front of the train appear from the darkness.

I take a deep breath and watch as it closes in on the platform. This was it. I could do it. Wipe it out and go somewhere better.

The whoosh of the train racing into the station. The squeal of the brakes. Taking a deep breath, I took a step forward and boarded. A moment later the doors hissed closed behind me. I shut my eyes and leaned against the plastic wall before placing a hand over my heart.

I'm still here. That beating in my chest is the reason I'm here. It wasn't time to go yet.

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If you're affected by anything written in this post, please speak to someone. You can find a list of helplines (sorted by country) on this website.

Look after yourself and don't let anyone dictate to you what your life should be like. It's your life. Live it as you see fit.