It is no secret that many suffer from mental illness. I am among them. I recall one specific springtime night, the same day before my birthday, to be one of the worst nights of my life so far. I had fallen into a seemingly endless downward spiral of negativity and self loathing. This agonizing string of events is because of one person and my own folly. That night I seriously thought of ending my life.  

          During the time of this distress I was in a relationship with someone. I convinced myself that continuing the relationship was a good idea, despite the red flags and the warnings those who loved me gave me. I do not think it is wise to blame all of my issues on this one person however there is undeniable damage done by them. For example, I was constantly on edge because if I missed a text or a call for over ten minutes, the person reacted in such a volatile way. They went sputtering on and on about how they would end their life if I did not behave exactly as they wished. This was a regular occurrence. Their manipulation, along with other such torture is what made me snap that night. 

          That definitive springtime night, while I was laying on my bedroom floor, I wept. I was a silently weeping mess who could not stop thinking of how little my life seemed to mean. My nails dug into the palms of my hands as I thought of my empty romance, a misplaced love I felt I could never free myself from. I thought of all the suffering my loved ones were enduring as they had to watch me engage with an awful person. They watched me leap off a cliff every day. I was terrified. I was running from all of the reality to the point where I truly thought ending my life would be more favorable. 

          Hours later, at around 2:00AM in the morning, I found the strength to rise from the floor. I dragged my feet as I moved into the living room. I grabbed an image of my family taken when I was in fourth grade and went back into my room to rummage through my old belongings. I then found notes my mother used to place in my lunch whenever she prepared it in the mornings in addition to birthday cards. As I stared at the image of my family and read those loving words, I began to cry some more although this time it was joy. I found it in myself to keep living. To heal. I realized how lost I had become, how ill and how unreasonable. This was the night I knew I needed to mend myself, to learn what love truly looks like, to become a better person. I am fortunate to have such a loving family. A family that gave me the freedom to fail and the strength to rise and grow. A family that allowed me to realize that real happiness was not within a romance. 

           This long, transformative night shifted the direction of my life to where I am today. I gained something invaluable from the pain that I withstood and am now on the path to reaching my full potential. The next morning I woke up on the floor, clutching a stuffed animal of a black sheep that my grandmother gifted to me on my first birthday.