Collage Essay

Not sure what I’m expecting, but I’d like somr criticism on this personal essay before I send it. I think I put too much on the story, not as much in the actual message.

My greatest achievement was learning to love myself after 4+ years of depression.

Self-love has always been my weakness, and in some aspects, still is. I never learned a particularly good way to express my disliking of myself in my early life, but I still had this burning desire to do some good in the world. I felt so empty, but I knew that if I did nothing with my life, I would only be living up to my own expectations. I had to be better, I knew, even when I had and felt nothing, that I could use what little energy I had as a clinically diagnosed teen with depression to make this world a better place. I could never see myself completely dissociateing and helping others in some artificial way, like donating money to some corporation, so I gave the only thing I had: Time, energy, and a listening ear. I quickly found a community of people that I felt close to, people who had joined an online group that discussed (gore) art. Of course, people in such a community had particularly dark thoughts, so I dedicated myself to seeking out those who needed to talk, and listening to their stories. On many occasions, I would be able to talk to them privately over the phone, and discuss options for their situation, whether it be financial, familiar, or whatever else. I became emotionally invested in these people, doing my best to make their lives better, no matter what. In me, they saw a friend, someone who cared enough to tell them that people would miss them if they died. Most of the people I met were heavily suicidal, and contemplating throwing in the towel. I told them that they were loved, something that I needed to hear more than anyone. I gave people the time that nobody gave me, and I loved others instead of myself. Eventually, I met one person in particular who really stood out. They were completely different, entirely open talking about their self harm, and even about how they lived in an institution. They were so far deep inside their own mind, they posted images of their self harm online, not for any kind of attention, but just because they figured that they deserved the humiliation. I talked to them for nearly half a year, introducing myself as a concerned viewer turned friend. I listened to nearly their entire life story, we talked on and on, and eventually, I started to talk back. We ended up being more than just people who talked online, we considered ourselves dear friends. I considered themselves an important part of my life, dedicating time every day just to check in and make sure they were ok. That’s why when one day, they stopped responding to my messages, my heart instantly sank. Their account was deleted the next day, and yet I continued to plea with what was now the digital corpse of my dear friend, texting them daily. Their online footprint was wiped, all accounts, all backups, all of it. They disappeared as if they never lived in the first place. I cried for months. This person, who I had put so much of my life and time into, had just vanished. Not even a goodbye was uttered before they were taken from me. To this day, I occasionally try to scour the abyss that is the internet, for just a little bit of conformation, anything. But nothing came. Through the coming months of depression, I realized that my emptiness in my soul had been filled with love. I no longer had any desire to harm myself, and it became impossible to see life through the lense of “I would be better off dead”. I had never wanted anything more than I currently want to see my friend one last time, or just to know where they went. I feel I know the answer, but just the fact that I don’t know kills me inside. I saw in themselves a worse-off version of myself, and seeing how distraught their disappearance had made me, I finally understood the value a single life could have. I wanted them to live, but now I must live for them, and be happy in their remembrance. I have to keep on going, because if I don’t, then there would be nobody to remember their story. I can't go back to my endless cycles of depression, because I know that they would have wanted better for me. I will live the life they couldn’t, and I shall carry the memory of their wonderful heart with me until I die of natural causes. I am willing to overcome any obsticle to continue my goal of living a good life, if not for them, then simply out of spite for the viel of blindness that so covered me before I could see. My vision and philosophy shall carry me, they shall be the weapons I weild when faced with enivitable failure, because I simply have decided to no longer succumb to the void inside. I have seen the end result of falling, so I hold balance above the tyrannical pit of despair, waiting in futility for my once dear friend to meet me on the other end. That is my talent; my inability to succumb.

Author's Note

Any feedback is appreciated, please and thank you.

Reviews

[McKenz]

i related to your story as i had my own fight with depression, and self harm.
and i have grown phases from being the self harmer to the listener and somehow a friend
I love how you depicted this in a way that speaks to and for so many people
some do not have the right words to express what they've been through and you have
thank you for making me relate to your story and sharing in the first place
May you heal from all unspoken things, and May your journey on this life be light, loving and healthy.