8 years.

June 21 is a day I’ll never forget, and for the longest time I associated the date with something terrible. I dreaded the day coming up. That day, I almost left this world by my own hand. I was broken. I wasn’t human. I was a robot, or something. I don’t know. But I was not myself. I don’t remember my thoughts other than completing the mission given to me by depression.

I’ve told the story a thousand times and it never changes. It never goes away. But eight years later, I tell it from a different perspective. I can and do tell it from a bystander’s point of view.

That girl was broken. She was lost. She was ignoring all the signs given to her to stay alive. She walked past me with tears in her eyes, ready to say her goodbyes to the names she put in the sky. She held something so powerful in her hand, knowing she held that power, but not caring that it could ruin so many lives around her if she let it take control.

To this day, I don’t know why that girl didn’t pull the trigger, other than hearing a voice in her head telling her to call her mother. I’m so glad she did it. I’m so glad she’s alive today. But I’m also so glad that girl doesn’t exist anymore. She’s grown. She’s strong. She’s got so much going for her now that no one can take away, not even depression.

Depression still sneaks in, but she’s got a firm grip on it. She holds the power. She took it back years ago and hasn’t given it back. She continues to keep depression at a distance, and with each year that passes, that distance gets further and further away.

Good riddance to that girl. Hello to the new me, the best me. Stay awhile, won’t you?

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